Author: Momo Chan

At our engagement gala, Liam’s assistant burst into the hall, screaming, “Summer has been kidnapped.” Liam immediately let go of my hand, leaving a hall full of high-society guests behind as he bolted toward the exit. I blocked his way. “Today is our engagement. Are you really going to abandon me for your mistress?” His eyes were bloodshot as he shoved me aside. “She is dying. Can you stop being so damn selfish for once?” I let go of him and smiled. “Liam, if you walk out of that door today, I will never wait for you again.” He hesitated for a single second, then rushed out without looking back. The crowd erupted into whispers. I turned around, picked up the microphone, and looked at the man standing in the dark corner of the hall. “Ethan Hudson.” The entire room went dead silent. Ethan, the man I had abandoned at the altar three years ago, stepped out of the shadows. His gaze was as cold as a knife. I extended my hand to him. “Let’s change the groom for this gala. Do you dare?”

Chloe’s POV The smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. During the stitches, I didn’t let the doctor use anesthesia. The needle pierced my skin, pulling the thread through. It hurt, but I didn’t even flinch. The young ER doctor kept glancing at me as if I were a monster who couldn’t feel pain. “The cut is deep. It almost nicked the nerve.” The doctor cut the thread, his voice laced with suspicion. “How did this happen?” “I was carving something, and the knife slipped,” I replied flatly. I wasn’t lying. To prepare a wedding gift for Liam, I had hand-carved a pair of obsidian cufflinks. The stone was too hard. The carving knife slipped and went straight through my left hand. Blood had splattered everywhere. After bandaging the wound, I used my uninjured right hand to pull out my phone. The screen lit up. No missed calls, no messages. Liam had been completely unreachable for three whole days. Our wedding was less than a month away. I stood up, preparing to pay the bill. A TV mounted on the ER wall was broadcasting the local news. “Today’s torrential rain has caused severe flooding across several areas of New York…” The screen flashed to a live reporter on site. My steps froze. In the pouring rain on the screen, a man in a black suit held a massive black umbrella, shielding a petite woman tightly in his arms. The rain soaked half of his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care. He looked down at the woman in his arms. His gaze held a level of intensity and tenderness that I, after knowing him for seven years and loving him for three, had never once seen. That was Liam. The heir to the Hudson Group, proud, arrogant, and cold. And the woman in his arms was someone I knew too. Summer Evans. A well-known digital reporter. She had built a massive online following on Twitter and TikTok with her “never tells a lie” persona. On screen, Summer was soaked, still clutching her camera. Her voice trembled, yet she sounded defiant. “Mr. Hudson, I was just doing my job. I don’t need your pity.” Liam let out a low chuckle. That laugh echoed through the TV speaker, stabbing right into my ears. “I don’t pity you,” Liam’s voice was deep and commanding. “I care about you.” The people watching TV in the lobby gasped. “Who is that guy? He’s so hot!” “That’s the CEO of Hudson Group! Oh my god, a billionaire and a reporter! So romantic!” I stood there, staring at the screen. The wound on my left hand suddenly throbbed violently. It hurt so much my fingertips went numb. I pulled out my phone and dialed Liam’s number. It rang for a long time, but no one answered. I hung up and tried again. This time, the call was instantly declined. A second later, a text message popped up on SnapChat. Liam: I’m busy. Stop annoying me. I stared at the words and curled my lips. Busy. Busy holding an umbrella for another woman in the pouring rain. I didn’t reply. I turned and walked out of the hospital. It was still raining. I didn’t use an umbrella. I just got straight into my car. I placed the box containing the cufflinks on the passenger seat and started the engine. Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a private lounge in Manhattan. This was Liam’s usual hangout spot. I pushed the door open and walked straight inside. The bouncers at the VIP entrance paled when they saw me, quickly stepping forward to block my path. “Miss Vance, what are you doing here?” “Move,” my voice was quiet but dripping with ice. “Mr. Hudson gave strict orders. He doesn’t want to be disturbed today…” Sweat beaded on the bouncer’s forehead. I ignored him, shoved past his arm, and walked down the hallway to the private suite. Bang! I kicked the door open. The laughter inside stopped instantly. On the couch, Liam was gently drying Summer’s wet hair with a towel. Summer shrunk into his chest like a frightened little deer. Several of Liam’s wealthy friends sat around them, wearing smirks on their faces. Seeing me, everyone froze. Liam’s hand paused, his brow instantly furrowing. “What are you doing here?” His tone was filled with utter impatience. I walked over. I was soaked. Rain dripped from my hair, and my face was pale. But my spine was perfectly straight. “I came to deliver something.” I handed him the box. Liam didn’t reach for it. He glanced at my bandaged, bleeding left hand. His eyes didn’t show a single flicker of concern. “What could be so urgent that you had to bring it here now?” “A wedding gift,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I made it myself.” The room fell into a dead silence. Summer peeked out from Liam’s arms, staring at me. “Miss Vance, please don’t misunderstand. I got caught in the storm during an interview, and my gear broke. Mr. Hudson was just passing by and helped me out…” “I didn’t ask you,” I cut her off, my eyes locked on Liam. “Take it.” “Just leave it on the table,” Liam said coldly. I didn’t move. My hand remained suspended in the air. Summer bit her lip and reached out. “Miss Vance, let me help you put it…” The moment her hand brushed the box, Liam suddenly lashed out, slapping the box away. Clatter. The box hit the floor, bursting open. Two cufflinks rolled out. On the pure black stone, my dried blood was still visible. “Don’t touch it,” Liam pulled Summer behind him, glaring at me coldly. “Who knows if that thing is even clean.” I stared at the cufflinks on the floor. I had pulled three consecutive all-nighters, carving them millimeter by millimeter. Every cut held my hope for our upcoming marriage. Now, they lay at someone else’s feet like trash.

Chloe’s POV “Liam,” my voice was barely a whisper. “We are getting married next month.” “So what?” Liam sneered. “It’s just a piece of paper. Do you really think of yourself as Mrs. Hudson already?” He stood up, looking down at me. “Chloe, you are so boring. You’re like a programmed machine. You never make mistakes, but you never surprise me either.” He pointed to Summer behind him. “Summer is different. She is real, she is alive, and she never lies. With her, I actually feel like a living human being.” I looked at him. For a long, long time. “Are you done staring? If you’re done, get out.” Liam turned around and stepped directly on one of the cufflinks. Crack. The sound of stone shattering. My heart shattered completely along with that sharp noise. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw a tantrum. I simply bent down, using my uninjured right hand to pick up the broken pieces one by one, squeezing them in my palm. The sharp shards sliced into my skin. But I felt no pain. “Sorry to bother you.” I stood up and walked out of the suite. The moment the door closed, I heard Summer’s soft voice from inside. “Liam, treating Chloe like that… won’t she be really sad?” “Why care about her? A woman like her doesn’t have a heart.” I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. When I opened them again, there was nothing left but icy silence. Liam, you’re right. I don’t have a heart anymore. The next day. I went to work as usual. I am the CEO of the Vance Group. Though the Vance family isn’t as massive as the Hudson conglomerate, we are still a highly respected prominent family in New York. However, over the last few years, our cash flow had run into issues, and we had been relying on joint projects with the Hudson Group to stay afloat. That was why everyone in our social circle said I was marrying up. At 10:00 AM. My office door was pushed open. Liam walked in. He was wearing a tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled. He looked nothing like the man from the bar last night. He walked straight over to the couch, sat down, and crossed his legs like he owned the place. “Is there something you need?” I didn’t even look up from my documents. Liam frowned. “Summer’s media channel is doing a special feature on prominent New York entrepreneurs,” Liam got straight to the point. “She needs a high-profile interview subject.” My hand pausing on the page. “And?” “You will accept her interview,” Liam said, his tone commanding. I raised my head and looked at him. I looked at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Liam, have you lost your mind?” Liam’s face darkened. “Chloe, watch your mouth.” “Watch my mouth?” I let out a cold laugh. “You want me to do an interview with your mistress just to help boost her career? What do you take me for?” “She is not a mistress! Stop using such disgusting words!” Liam stood up abruptly. “Summer is a professional reporter! She just needs an opportunity to prove herself!” “If she wants to prove herself, why does she have to step on me to do it?” “Chloe, stop throwing a tantrum.” Liam walked over to my desk, leaning over to stare down at me. “You must do this interview.” I leaned back in my chair, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And if I refuse?” Liam narrowed his eyes, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “The Vance Group is currently developing the Brooklyn Waterfront Project, right? You still have a three-hundred-million-dollar funding gap. If the Hudson Group pulls its investment right now…” My face paled instantly. The Brooklyn Waterfront Project was my father’s lifelong dream. If the funding cut, the Vance Group would go bankrupt. Liam knew exactly where my weakness lay. He was using my father’s dream to blackmail me into pleasing another woman. Looking at this man, I felt utterly disgusted. “Liam, you are despicable.” “Say whatever you want.” Liam stood up and straightened his suit jacket. “Summer will bring her team here at two this afternoon. You better cooperate.” With that, he turned and walked out. The door clicked shut. I sat in my chair, my body freezing cold. The wound on my left hand began to throb again. I opened my drawer, pulled out a bottle of painkillers, and swallowed two pills dry.

Chloe’s POV At 2:00 PM. Summer arrived at my office right on time with her camera crew. She was wearing a sleek professional blazer today, with flawless makeup. She looked both innocent and professional. Liam was right behind her. “Miss Vance, sorry to disturb you,” Summer smiled sweetly. I ignored her, pointing to the seat opposite me. “Let’s begin.” The cameras were set up. The red recording light turned on. The smile on Summer’s face vanished, replaced by a sharp, professional mask. “Miss Vance, rumors say that the Vance Group’s recent growth relies heavily on the support of the Hudson Group. Is this true?” The very first question was a direct attack. I remained calm. “The Vance Group and the Hudson Group share a standard, mutually beneficial business partnership.” “Is that so?” Summer flipped through her tablet. “But according to my sources, over sixty percent of your profits over the past three years came from projects outsourced by the Hudson Group. Doesn’t that count as dependency?” I frowned slightly. This data was a trade secret. How could a digital reporter like Summer access it? I instinctively looked at Liam, who was standing behind the camera. Liam avoided my eyes. I understood. Liam had handed her my company’s financial data just so she could humiliate me. “Miss Evans, I don’t care where you got your fabricated data,” my voice grew cold. “If you only came here today to audit my company’s finances, this interview is over.” “Please don’t be angry, Miss Vance. I am just seeking the truth.” Summer blinked innocently, throwing an even sharper question. “Since the Vance Group is so dependent on the Hudsons, rumors say you used underhanded tactics to force Mr. Hudson into this marriage. How do you respond to that?” The air in the office froze instantly. Even the cameraman gasped. This wasn’t an interview. This was a public execution. My fingers clenched tightly. My nails dug into my palms. The pain kept me focused. Looking at Summer’s smug, provocative face, I suddenly smiled. “Miss Evans, you claim you never lie. Do you dare to look into that camera and say you have absolutely no personal motive behind these questions today?” Summer’s face stiffened. “I… of course I don’t! I am just asking on behalf of the public!” “The public isn’t that interested in my private life.” I stood up, looking down at her. “The only people interested are those hiding in the shadows, desperately plotting to steal the title of Mrs. Hudson.” “You!” Summer’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Chloe!” Liam strode over, pulling Summer behind his back. He glared at me, looking like he wanted to tear me apart. “Have you lost your mind? Summer is just doing a standard interview!” “A standard interview?” I pointed at the camera. “A standard interview asks if I forced you into marriage? Liam, do you dare deny that you authorized these questions?” Exposed, Liam’s face turned an ugly shade of red. “So what if I did? Did she say anything wrong? If your grandfather hadn’t used his deathbed wish to force my grandfather into this arrangement, do you think I would ever marry you?” Those words felt like a dagger driving straight into my heart. I looked at Liam. For three years. For his sake, I had swallowed my pride and learned how to be the perfect fiancée. I thought even a cold stone could be warmed up. But a stone is just a stone. “Fine,” I nodded, my voice incredibly calm. “Since you feel so victimized, we don’t have to get married.” Liam froze. He obviously didn’t expect me to say that. After all, in his eyes, I loved him so desperately that I had no dignity left. How could I ever call off the wedding? “Don’t try to threaten me with calling off the wedding,” Liam sneered. “Do you think I’m scared?” “I am not threatening you.” I sat back down and pressed the intercom on my desk. “Security, escort these intruders out.” “Chloe, how dare you!” “Watch me.” I looked up, my eyes as cold as ice. “Liam, take your woman and get the hell out of my company.”

Chloe’s POV The interview video was released anyway. Summer’s team was highly skilled at editing. They cut out all of my counterattacks, leaving only Summer’s sharp questions and my silent, tense expressions. The video was posted with a highly provocative title: The Truth Behind the Billionaire Alliance: Love, or a Financial Trap? Once published, it immediately went viral on Twitter and TikTok. Summer’s fans shared it like crazy, dragging my name through the mud. “So she did force him into marriage! How shameless!” “No wonder Mr. Hudson doesn’t love her. Who would want a gold-digger who blackmails her way into a family?” “I feel so bad for Summer. She got bullied by this evil CEO just for exposing the truth!” “Liam and Summer are the real soulmates! Boycott the forced marriage!” I sat in my dark apartment, watching the vicious comments stream down my phone screen. My expression remained blank. It felt like I was reading a story about someone else. On the coffee table lay a stack of wedding invitations. Our names, “Liam Hudson” and “Chloe Vance,” were printed side-by-side. It looked like a massive joke now. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Liam. Liam: Don’t worry about the video. Summer needs the publicity right now. Once the hype dies down, I’ll have PR handle it. Looking at the text, I found it laughably absurd. He had pushed me off a cliff, letting the entire internet tear me apart, just to generate traffic for his mistress. And then he casually dismissed it with “don’t worry.” I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone aside, stood up, and walked into my study. Inside the safe lay a dusty wooden box. I opened it to find an old, discontinued phone model. I plugged in the charger and powered it on. The lock screen lit up, showing a blurry photo of a man’s back. He was wearing a black trench coat, his posture tall and imposing, radiating a dangerous, untouchable coldness. Ethan Hudson. The true, formidable heir of the Hudson family, and Liam’s older half-brother. He was also… my former fiancé. Three years ago. On the eve of my wedding to Ethan. Liam had knelt outside the Vance mansion in a torrential storm for an entire day and night. He had grabbed my hand, his eyes red as he begged me, “Chloe, don’t marry him. I love you. Run away with me.” Back then, I was blinded by Liam’s dramatic display of affection. In a moment of madness, I made the most reckless decision of my life. I ran away from my own wedding. I abandoned Ethan, the ruthless, terrifying man everyone feared, and ran away with Liam. The Hudson family was furious. Ethan became the laughingstock of New York high society. Yet, he didn’t unleash his wrath. He didn’t send men to hunt me down. He simply stood at the wedding venue, calmly announced the cancellation, and boarded a flight out of the country that very day. It had been three years. Ethan had never returned. And I had paid a devastating price for my impulsive mistake. I thought I was running toward love. Instead, I had leaped straight into an abyss. I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling as I dialed the number I hadn’t touched in three years. The line rang for a long time. So long that I feared he had changed his number. Just as I was about to hang up, the call connected. There was no greeting. Only the sound of faint breathing and the sharp click of a lighter. I gripped the phone, my knuckles turning white. “…Ethan,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. The other end remained silent for two seconds. Then, a deep, magnetic, and freezing voice cut through the line. “Chloe Vance.” Just hearing him speak my name made my chest tighten with a suffocating pressure. “It’s me,” I said, closing my eyes. “Is there a reason you’re calling?” Ethan’s voice was completely flat, as if he were talking to a stranger. “How… how have you been?” I didn’t know how to start. “If you called just to make small talk, you can hang up.” “Wait!” I blurted out. I bit my lip, making up my mind. “Ethan, do you want to make a bet with me?” A faint, mocking chuckle came from the other end. “What makes you think I would ever play games with you again?” “Because you didn’t destroy me three years ago,” my voice steadied. “Ethan, I know you hate me. I am giving you a chance to get your revenge.” “Speak.” “Next month on the eighth, it’s my wedding with Liam.” I paused. “If he abandons me at the altar, I will marry you right then and there.” The air seemed to freeze. Even across half the globe, I could feel the terrifying chill radiating from Ethan. “Chloe, what do you think I am?” Ethan’s voice dropped low, laced with dangerous anger. “A trash bin for my brother’s leftovers?” “No,” I opened my eyes, my gaze resolute. “I am treating you as my only way out.” The line fell silent again. Only the rhythmic click, click of his lighter echoed in the quiet night. Every flick of the flame seemed to beat against my heart. After what felt like an eternity. Ethan finally spoke. “And if he doesn’t abandon you?” “Then I will transfer thirty percent of the Vance Group’s shares to you, free of charge,” I said without hesitation. “Chloe, you are out of your mind.” “Do you dare to bet?” “Fine,” Ethan’s voice held a trace of ruthless amusement. “I’ll be there on the eighth. Chloe, this is your last chance. If you dare to play me again…” “I won’t,” I interrupted. “Ethan, I’ll be waiting.” I hung up. My strength evaporated, and I slid down onto the cold floor. My back was drenched in sweat. I knew I was playing with fire. Ethan was a sleeping beast. Once provoked, he would tear me apart without leaving even a bone behind. But I didn’t care anymore. If Liam wanted to drag my dignity through the mud. Then I would flip the table and make sure everyone burned with me.

Chloe’s POV With one week left until the wedding. Liam seemed to have completely forgotten our past arguments. He began showing up constantly, playing the role of a doting groom. It was as if the online hate and Summer’s provocations were just a figment of my imagination. At a high-end bridal boutique downtown. I sat on the couch, watching the clock on the wall. 3:00 PM. Liam was already a full hour late. The consultant carefully served a cup of coffee. “Miss Vance, would you like to try on the dress first? Mr. Hudson might be stuck in traffic.” “No, I’ll wait,” I said calmly. At 3:30 PM. The bell at the entrance finally chimed. Liam rushed in, bringing in the cold draft from outside. Along with a faint scent of citrus perfume. That was Summer’s favorite scent. “Sorry, an urgent meeting came up at the office,” Liam walked over, leaning down to kiss my forehead. I tilted my head, avoiding him. Liam’s hand froze in mid-air. A flash of annoyance crossed his eyes, but he quickly masked it. “Still mad? I’ll take you to that French place you love tonight to make it up to you, okay?” “No need. Let’s just try the dress.” I stood up and followed the consultant into the fitting room. When I stepped out wearing the custom gown designed by a top French designer, Liam gasped. The pure white skirt was encrusted with tiny diamonds, shimmering under the boutique lights. The gown accentuated my collarbones and slender neck, making me look like an untouchable, regal queen. “Beautiful,” Liam stepped forward, genuine admiration in his eyes. He reached out, wanting to wrap his hand around my waist. Right then. A loud ringtone broke the silence. It was Liam’s phone. The custom ringtone he had set exclusively for Summer. Liam’s movement froze. He looked at me, then at the phone in his pocket. “Answer it,” I said, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My voice didn’t hold a single drop of emotion. Liam pulled out his phone and stepped aside to answer. “Summer, what’s wrong?” I couldn’t hear the other side, but Liam’s face instantly paled. “Don’t cry! I’m coming right now! Stay where you are and don’t move!” He hung up and turned to me, his face frantic. “Chloe, Summer is trapped at an interview site by some aggressive men. I have to go.” I looked at him. “We are fitting my wedding dress.” “The dress fits perfectly, no adjustments needed,” Liam said impatiently, tugging at his tie. “Summer is in danger. She can’t handle this alone.” “Liam,” I turned around, looking straight into his eyes. “If you walk out of this door today, I will never wear this dress again.” Liam frowned, clearly thinking I was just throwing a childish tantrum. “Chloe, can you be reasonable for once? This is an emergency, and you’re choosing now to act jealous?” “Reasonable?” I smiled, but the warmth didn’t reach my eyes. “Fine. Go.” Liam gave me a long look, then turned and bolted out of the boutique. Without a shred of hesitation. I watched his figure disappear through the glass doors. I turned to the consultant. “Help me take it off.” “Miss Vance, the gown…” “Pack it up and send it to the Hudson estate,” I said flatly. “I don’t need it.” After changing back into my clothes, I walked out of the store. My phone buzzed. It was an image message. Sender: Summer. In the photo, Liam had his sleeves rolled up, standing in a cramped kitchen cooking soup. His profile was incredibly soft and focused. Below the photo was a text: Miss Vance, I’m so sorry for ruining your dress fitting. But my stomach ulcer flared up so badly, and Liam insisted that takeout isn’t clean enough. He insisted on making me soup himself. You don’t mind, right? I stared at the photo. There were no aggressive men trapping her. It was just another one of Summer’s pathetic games to secure his attention. And Liam had willingly played right along. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I replied: You two deserve each other. I hit send and blocked her number instantly. At 11:00 PM. Liam returned to our apartment. The place was pitch black. He turned on the lights and saw me sitting on the couch, holding a glass of red wine. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Liam walked over, trying to soften his tone. “Summer was really shaken up today, so I stayed to keep her company for a bit.” “Shaken up, or was it just her stomach ulcer?” I took a sip of wine and asked quietly. Liam’s face stiffened. “Are you tracking me?” “I’m not that bored.” I set the glass down. “Liam, aren’t you tired?” “What do you mean?” “Lying to both sides, placating both sides. You might not be tired, but I’m exhausted just watching you.” I stood up and faced him. “You can just call off the wedding and be with her.” “Chloe Vance!” Liam snapped. “Do you have to pick a fight right now? The invitations are already out. All of New York knows we are getting married. You want to cancel now?” “Are you just afraid of losing face?” “I am doing this for the reputation of both our families!” Liam took a deep breath, forcing his anger down. “Chloe, I admit I have feelings for Summer. But the position of Mrs. Hudson will only ever belong to you. Just behave, and I will treat you well.” Just behave. The words sounded incredibly repulsive. “Sure,” I suddenly smiled. My smile was bright and dazzling. “Liam, remember what you said today.” I walked past him and went into the bedroom.

Chloe’s POV The night before the wedding. Our families hosted a massive rehearsal dinner at the most luxurious hotel in Manhattan. All our relatives, friends, and business partners were there. The crystal chandeliers gleamed, and the champagne towers sparkled under the lights. I wore a stunning red gown, socializing with the guests with a flawless smile on my face. Liam stood beside me, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He kept checking his watch and pulling out his phone. “Liam, what is wrong with you?” Liam’s mother walked over, whispering sharply. “Today is a big day for you and Chloe. Focus.” “I’m fine, Mom,” Liam brushed her off, slipping his phone back into his pocket. A waiter carrying a tray accidentally bumped into me. The red wine spilled, splashing onto my skirt. “I am so sorry! Miss Vance, I am so sorry!” The waiter apologized profusely, trembling. Before I could speak, Liam suddenly exploded. “How do you do your job? Are you blind?!” He violently shoved the waiter, his voice echoing across the quieted ballroom. Everyone turned to look at us. I frowned slightly. Liam was overreacting. He wasn’t acting out of concern for me. He was just using this as an excuse to vent his pent-up anxiety. “I’m fine,” I grabbed Liam’s arm. “I’ll just go to the restroom and clean up.” Right then, the phone in Liam’s pocket began to vibrate frantically. As if grabbing onto his last lifeline, he snatched it out immediately. Seeing the name on the screen, his face drained of all color. He violently threw my hand off and answered. “Summer? What’s wrong? Speak to me!” Summer’s terrified screams echoed faintly from the receiver. “Liam! Help me! Someone is breaking down my door! They’re inside… Ah!” The call cut off. Liam’s eyes went completely wild. He turned and bolted toward the exit like a madman. “Liam! Where do you think you’re going?!” his father, Charles Hudson, roared. “Summer is in danger! I have to save her!” Liam didn’t even turn his head. “Stop right there! Do you have any idea what night it is? If you dare walk out of that door, don’t ever call yourself a Hudson again!” Liam paused. He turned around, looking at the room full of guests, his furious parents, and finally, his gaze landed on me. I stood there, watching him. I didn’t stop him, nor did I beg him to stay. My gaze was as cold as if I were looking at a corpse. “I’m sorry,” Liam gritted his teeth. “I can’t let her die.” With that, he ran out of the ballroom. The heavy doors slammed shut with a resounding thud. The room fell into a dead silence before erupting into a frenzy of whispers. “Oh my god, did the groom just run away?” “For a reporter? This is insane!” “The Vance family’s reputation is completely ruined…” Liam’s father looked like he was about to have a stroke. My father, Arthur, looked furious. He strode over to me. “Chloe, what on earth is going on?!” “Dad, it’s fine,” I supported my father, my voice completely steady. “Let the guests enjoy their dinner. It’s just a minor hiccup.” I turned back to the room, raising my wine glass high. “Apologies for the drama, everyone. Mr. Hudson had an emergency to handle. Tomorrow’s wedding will proceed as scheduled. Please, enjoy your evening.” I drained the glass of red wine in one gulp. My movements were sharp and elegant, without a hint of desperation. After calming the guests, I slipped away and walked out onto the hotel terrace. The night wind was freezing. It cleared the alcohol from my mind. I leaned against the railing, looking down at the city streets. Liam’s car was already gone. I closed my eyes, letting out a long, slow breath. It was over. The very last shred of hope I had for Liam had died completely tonight. Click. The sharp sound of a lighter echoed behind me. It was startlingly loud in the quiet night. I spun around. In the shadows of the terrace stood a tall man. He wore a long black trench coat, holding a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. The glowing red tip flickered in the dark. He stepped out of the shadows. The hallway light hit his face, carving out his sharp, aristocratic features. His eyes were dark, dangerous, and dripping with raw intensity as he stared at me. Ethan. He really came back. My heart skipped a beat. After three years, his aura had become even more terrifying. Ethan walked over, looming over me. His gaze swept over my red gown, finally landing on my bandaged left hand. He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around my wrist. His touch was as cold as ice. “Does it still hurt?” His voice was deep, gravelly, and laced with a subtle danger. I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip tightened. “It doesn’t,” I met his gaze. Ethan let out a low chuckle. He took a drag of his cigarette and slowly blew the smoke into my face. The bitter scent of tobacco enveloped me instantly. “He abandoned you at your rehearsal dinner for another woman,” Ethan’s voice held no effort to hide his mockery. “Chloe, is this the man you ran away with three years ago?” My face paled. “I made a mistake,” I admitted frankly, offering no excuses. “And you think a simple confession wipes away those three years?” Ethan suddenly lunged forward, pinning me against the terrace railing.

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On Valentine’s night, my long-distance boyfriend, Chase, and I had a FaceTime sex date planned. I’d bought some super sexy lace lingerie just for tonight. But the second the video call connected, his lab partner, Amber, walked right into the camera frame. She gasped, fake-covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh my god, Chloe! Why are you dressed like that?” Blushing hard, I pulled my duvet up to my chin to cover myself. I glared at Chase through the screen. “Why is she in your room?” Before Chase could even open his mouth, Amber cut in. “Chase and I have a huge lab experiment to run tonight. We can only give you three minutes to chat.” Chase looked incredibly awkward. “Chloe, the national tech competition is coming up, and this experiment is critical to our project. I really have to go. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?” “But it’s Valentine’s Day,” I said, my voice cracking. “We planned this.” Amber rolled her eyes, practically snatching the phone from his hand. “Chloe, aren’t you just taking classes at a local community college? It’s fine if you don’t care about your own future, but stop holding Chase back from his.” And with that, Amber slammed the hang-up button. I let out a bitter laugh. Three years of long-distance. It was finally time to end this joke.

I exited FaceTime and tapped on my chat history with Chase on Snapchat. I scrolled up. It was just a graveyard of my one-sided messages. I had sent him photos of my new haircut. I had sent him a picture of a pretty cloud. I had sent him a funny video of a stray cat on a tree branch. His replies? Practically nonexistent. He’d send a dry “cool” hours later, or a thumbs-up emoji two days after my text. Sometimes, just a random sticker. I closed Snapchat and opened Instagram. Our cute couple photos? Deleted. Now, his feed was flooded with photos of him and Amber working late in the lab. In one photo, their hands were practically touching over a beaker. I locked my phone and stripped off the lingerie. Tonight was nothing but a humiliating slap in the face. A second later, a text popped up from Amber. “Chloe, I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m just going to be honest with you. If you actually care about Chase, stop bothering him. He studies until 3 AM every night. Every time his phone buzzes, he loses focus and it takes him fifteen minutes to get back in the zone.” “The random spam you send him is honestly pointless. He doesn’t want to reply, but he feels too guilty not to, which wastes so much of his mental energy. Do you have any idea how draining that is for him?” “Also, as an independent modern woman, maybe stop sending him those cheap, thirst-trap photos. Is a woman’s only value her body to you?” I stared at the screen, every word cutting like a needle. She had gone through our private chats? Chase was a total privacy freak. He had never even let me touch his phone during our three years together. I typed back: “Does he know you’re texting me this?” Her reply was instant. “Of course. He said you keep sending him useless spam and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you directly. He asked me to handle it.” My throat felt tight, like I was choking on sand. Amber added one more text: “Oh, and he wanted me to tell you not to call during study hours. Just text. He’ll check it when he’s free, but don’t expect a reply. Be mature.” Driven by a masochistic urge, I tapped onto Amber’s Instagram profile. Her latest post from yesterday was at a cozy pizza place. Chase was sitting across from her, and she had snapped a photo of him eating a slice she had probably picked out for him. The caption read: “Weekend fuel with my favorite nerd.” I scrolled down. Last week, they went hiking, posing with peace signs at the summit. Before that, it was a coffee shop date, late-night library study sessions, and a new dessert spot. He was in every single photo. The same Chase who always told me he was “too busy.” It turned out he wasn’t busy. He just reserved his time for someone else. Tonight, I was supposed to tell him some life-changing news. I had just been accepted into the prestigious Master’s program at Columbia University—the very same campus he went to. I was finally moving to New York. We weren’t going to be long-distance anymore. But now, those words were stuck in my throat, turning into a dull, heavy ache. I opened Chase’s Snapchat and sent him one last message: “Let’s break up.”

The next day, I woke up and unlocked my phone. Inside our Snapchat chat, my text “Let’s break up” sat at the very bottom. Read. No reply. Just like almost every message I had sent him over the last four years, it had sunk to the bottom of the ocean. I stared at the screen and let out a dry laugh. He was so checked out of this relationship that he couldn’t even bother to reply to a breakup text. Before I could lock my screen, a notification popped up in our university’s club WhatsApp group. It was the roster for the upcoming regional college basketball tournament. My eyes instantly caught Chase’s name. And right next to it, listed as the team manager, was Amber. My roommate leaned over my shoulder, taking a look. She shook her head. “Man, those two are practically the power couple of Columbia’s bio department. They live in the library together. Even the professors say they’re a perfect match.” She pulled up a screenshot of Amber’s VSCO. “Look at them. One is top of the class, the other is second. They literally share everything.” I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and forced a nod. “Yeah, they look great.” But my fingernails dug deep into my palms. From that day on, I went out of my way to avoid the science building, the campus gym, and any route where I might run into him. But of course, fate is cruel. I bumped right into him outside the advisor’s office. Chase looked a bit thinner. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was holding a stack of syllabus folders. When he saw me, he froze for a second, then forced a polite smile. “Chloe? Hey. It’s been a while. Want to grab some lunch?” I wanted to say no, but a four-year relationship deserved a proper, face-to-face ending. So, I nodded. “Sure.” Before I could even step forward, Amber stepped out from behind the door, naturally sliding right next to Chase. She smiled warmly at me. “Oh, Chloe! What a coincidence. We should all eat together.” She tilted her head toward Chase. “Did you pick a place?” Chase shook his head. Amber immediately turned to me. “Why don’t you choose, Chloe? It’s rare for us to hang out.” “How about that French cuisine place down the street?” I suggested casually. Amber gasped softly. “Oh, his stomach has been so sensitive lately. The doctor literally put him on a bland diet. Didn’t you know that, Chloe?” I pressed my lips together. “Okay. What about the organic vegan bistro?” Amber shook her head again. “Too much oil in their dressings. He had terrible acid reflux the last time we went there.” She paused, letting out a soft, pitying chuckle. “Chloe, how do you not know his dietary restrictions by now?” I suggested four or five more places, and every single time, Amber shut me down with some intimate detail about Chase’s daily routine. Too far, too noisy, too dirty, too long of a wait. Finally, she sighed, looking like she was making a grand sacrifice. “Fine, fine. Let me choose. You two are hopeless.” Chase looked down at her and laughed softly. “Thanks, Amber.” Amber playfully nudged his shoulder. “I’m literally carrying this friendship on my back. You owe me big time for this.” As they bantered back and forth, I stood there like an invisible third wheel. Watching Chase look at Amber with that warm, easy smile made my chest tighten so hard I could barely breathe. Four years of long-distance. I thought we were just separated by miles. But the truth was, the distance was so wide I didn’t even fit into his life anymore. The words “Let’s break up” felt heavy in my mouth. But seeing them like this, I realized I didn’t even need to say it out loud. It didn’t matter. When the menus arrived, Amber took charge. She pointed to an avocado salad, reminding Chase that he was on a low-sodium phase. Then she ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup, smiling at him. “You said you liked their broth last time. See? I remembered.” Chase nodded, totally natural. “Do you want to add an order of those fish tacos you love?” Sitting across from them, I felt like a stranger who had accidentally sat at the wrong table. Amber suddenly slid the menu to me. “Chloe, go ahead and order whatever you want.” Before I could speak, Chase cut in. “She doesn’t really like spicy stuff. Let’s get her the…” He stopped. His finger hovered over the menu, his eyebrows knitting together. After a long pause, he pointed to two random dishes. “Let’s just get these.” I looked down. Fried chicken tenders. A wave of nausea and sadness hit me. I was severely allergic to poultry. I hadn’t eaten chicken in my entire life. He had completely forgotten. Amber tapped the back of Chase’s head with her menu, teasing him. “Are you studying too hard or what? I’m the one who loves chicken tenders, stupid!” Chase blinked, looking flustered. He avoided my eyes and pushed the menu closer to me. “Just… order whatever you want.” I shook my head and stood up, grabbing my bag. “No, it’s fine. I actually have a project to finish. I should go.” I looked down at him one last time. “Check your Snapchat messages when you have a second.” He shrugged dismissively. “Amber filters my messages for me. She’ll let me know if there’s anything urgent.” I let out a tiny, hollow laugh. So I wasn’t even “urgent” enough to bypass his assistant. There was no point in waiting for a reply. I turned and pushed open the restaurant door. The cool New York breeze hit my face, and for the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.

The next day was the campus basketball game. My roommate had dragged me along to support her younger brother, Jace. Jace was a freshman, and this was his first big game. He was so nervous his hands were shaking. I bought a pack of Gatorade and water bottles, setting up a little cheering station by the bench. The buzzer sounded, and I looked up. I immediately saw Chase driving the ball down the court. Amber was standing right by the sideline, holding a towel and a bottle of water. Every time Chase made a shot, she cheered and jumped. During timeouts, she’d immediately hand him his water and wipe his sweat. They looked like a seamless unit. Some girls standing near me whispered, “They are so cute together.” “Chase is playing like a beast today. Amber’s definitely his lucky charm.” I forced a flat smile and turned my attention back to Jace. At the end of the third quarter, Chase walked over to the bench. Amber immediately draped a towel over his neck. I bent down to organize the water bottles, but in my peripheral vision, I saw Chase walking toward me. He glanced at the row of Gatorades at my feet and frowned. “Amber already got me drinks. You don’t need to do this.” He paused, his tone turning lecture-like. “Honestly, Chloe, you should spend less time hanging around gym courts and more time studying.” I gripped the plastic bottle in my hand, staying silent. “Look at Amber,” Chase continued, his voice self-righteous. “She’s top of her class, winning research grants, and she still manages her time perfectly. You could really learn a thing or two from her.” A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. I looked up, staring straight into his eyes. “Whether I study or not is none of your business, Chase.” He froze, his jaw tightening. “Chloe, what is your attitude lately? I swear, ever since you started community college, you’ve lost all ambition. If your mindset stays like this, how are we supposed to have a future—” “A future?” I interrupted, my eyes stinging. “We don’t have a future.” He opened his mouth to speak but went silent. He bent down, reaching for one of the Gatorades near my feet. But before his hand could touch the bottle, another hand snatched it away. Jace cracked the cap open, took a massive gulp, and grinned down at me. “Thanks, Chloe. This is exactly what I needed.” Jace then stepped forward, his tall, athletic frame completely blocking Chase from my view. Chase’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he dropped it awkwardly. He glared at Jace, then looked back at me, his eyes dark with irritation. Amber wandered over, looking between us with a fake-innocent smile. “Oh, Chloe, did you come here just to see Jace? No wonder you brought so many drinks.” She tilted her head. “I was wondering why you didn’t even look at Chase once during the whole game.” Before I could respond, Chase’s face went cold. I looked at Amber and smiled thinly. “Amber, you’re so obsessed with watching me, people might think you’re the one trying to get with Jace.” “Chloe!” Chase snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “What the hell is wrong with you? Amber has done nothing but try to help you, and this is how you treat her? Stop being so toxic.” Before I could even defend myself, he stepped closer, his voice rising with frustration. “Every time I had a rough semester, who was there for me? Amber. When I was pulling all-nighters and about to crash, who stayed up with me? Amber. When I had a fever and had to go to the clinic, who stayed by my side all night?” His eyes actually looked red, his voice shaking. “You ask me why I don’t reply to your texts? Think about it, Chloe. Where were you when I actually needed you?” The bench went completely quiet. A few players glanced over at us. Amber grabbed his sleeve, looking like she was trying to calm him down, but the smug look in her eyes gave her away. At that moment, the thin thread holding my heart together for the past four years finally snapped.

“Where was I?” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise of the gym. “Chase, freshman year, before finals, you had a fever. I called you eleven times. You didn’t answer a single one. The next day, you told me your phone was on silent, and I believed you.” “Sophomore year, during the winter, my boss at my part-time job stiffed me on my paycheck. I was crying on the curb and sent you a voice note saying how scared and sad I was. You replied two days later with a stupid hug emoji.” “Last month, on my birthday, I stayed up until 2 AM waiting for a text. You didn’t even say ‘Happy Birthday.’ The next day, you told me you forgot and that I was being too sensitive.” I stared at him, tears finally spilling over my lashes. “You say I wasn’t there when you needed me? Did you ever give me a chance to be? Every time you ‘needed’ someone, Amber was already standing there. Where was I supposed to stand, Chase?” Chase’s mouth opened, his lips trembling, but no words came out. Amber let go of his sleeve and whispered, “Chase, let’s just go… Chloe’s obviously in a bad mood.” I turned to walk away. But suddenly, a loud shout echoed through the gym. “Watch out!” In my peripheral vision, a heavy orange shadow came flying toward me at high speed. I tried to dodge, but it was too fast. Thwack! Before the ball even hit me, I saw Chase reflexively throw his body over Amber, shielding her head and shoulders with his back. The ball hadn’t even been heading toward her. As I stumbled backward and hit the hardwood floor, a sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull, but my chest felt incredibly light. Amber screamed, “Chase, the ball hit Chloe!” Chase finally turned around, his face completely pale. Jace rushed over, scooping me up in his arms before Chase could even take a step. “I’m taking her to the campus clinic,” Jace growled, running past him. I closed my eyes. My head throbbed with agony, but the heavy stone that had been crushing my chest for three years was finally gone. In the clinic, Chase let out a sigh of relief. “The doctor said it’s just a mild concussion. Nothing major.” I didn’t say anything, staring at the ceiling. He pulled up a plastic chair and sat down. “The game just ended, and I have to catch the last train back to my campus. Get some rest. I’ll come see you next time.” He paused, his voice softening. “About what happened on the court… don’t overthink it. It was just an instinct. You look like you’ve lost weight, Chloe. Make sure you eat. Text me if you need anything. I… I promise I’ll reply.” If this were a few months ago, those few soft words would have been enough to make me swallow all my tears and wait for his next “promise.” But now, they sounded completely empty. Like dust landing on water—not even leaving a ripple. I nodded blankly. “Okay.” He waited, expecting me to say more. When I didn’t, he stood up slowly, walking toward the door. At the threshold, he looked back at me, hesitating, as if waiting for me to beg him to stay. “Go back and read the messages I sent you,” I said quietly. He nodded. “Okay. I will.” The next day, my phone remained completely silent. He had promised to read the messages, but still, no reply. I opened Snapchat, held down his name, and tapped Delete Friend. Then, I packed a bag and bought a one-way train ticket to a quiet beach town.

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The year my boyfriend was dirt poor, he rejected a billionaire heiress just to stay with me. But I, desperate for a breakthrough in my career, accepted a role in a low-budget erotic thriller. On the day of the shoot, he showed up on set, crying and begging me not to go through with it. He said he would work himself to the bone to make money for us. But I pushed him away and had security throw him out. Later, the movie went viral. I became an overnight sensation, branded as a sexy starlet. And he married that billionaire heiress, climbing straight to the top of the world. Six years later, we met again on a superyacht. I was a washed-up, desperate actress begging for a role. And he was the owner of the yacht. My agent flashed a sycophantic smile and asked him, “Mr. Miller, have you ever seen Luna’s work?” He leaned back against the leather sofa, slowly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Luna’s debut film? I’ve watched it. Frame by frame.” The ocean breeze swept across the deck, messing up my hair. I silently pressed down my hair and looked up at Ethan. Six years. The boyish charm was completely gone. In its place was a mature, powerful, and intimidating man. Every gesture of his screamed absolute authority. Beside me, my agent, Ashley, gasped in pleasant surprise. “Does that mean you’re a fan of our Luna, Mr. Miller?” Ethan set his glass down, his voice chillingly calm. “I only watched it because I was analyzing the film with my wife.” In that movie, I had a three-minute nude scene. Those three minutes had once made him want to die. Years ago, he had knelt on the dirty floor of the set, tugging at my jeans, his voice completely raw: “Baby, please don’t do this… I’ll make money. I’ll work myself to death to make money for us…” Now, he could calmly sit beside his wife, watching those exact scenes frame by frame. Ashley realized what he meant, but she kept the fake smile plastered on her face. “Of course, of course. I heard Chloe reviews every actor’s past work before casting them.” “You’re a busy man, Mr. Miller. If it weren’t for Chloe, you probably wouldn’t even know our Luna!” Before she could finish, Chloe slowly walked down from the yacht’s second deck. “Luna’s performance in her debut was brilliant. I actually studied her scenes four times.” Ethan took her hand, pulling her naturally into his lap. All his coldness vanished in an instant. His voice softened with a smile. “And after watching it, you kept me up for two hours talking about it.” She looked back at him with a playful glare. “Are you saying I talk too much?” “I wouldn’t dare.” Under the table, Ashley pinched my waist hard. I clenched my fists, forcing a smile onto my face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Chloe.” Before coming here, Ashley had told me that a rising director was preparing a new indie film. The script was top-tier, and the funding was massive. The director had specifically requested to meet me to discuss a role. For someone like me, who hadn’t gotten a decent script in years, this was a lifeline. But I never expected this director to be Ethan’s wife. After a brief conversation, I learned about the project. The movie was called The Captive Heart. It was a romance drama about a wealthy girl and a poor boy overcoming obstacles to be together. Chloe wanted me to play the supporting female lead—the antagonist. While she had plenty of lines, the role was physically brutal. She had underwater scenes, hanging scenes, and endless stunts. After hearing the pitch, I stood up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take this role.” It wasn’t that I was afraid of hard work. I just didn’t want to play a pathetic character under her direction. Ashley kicked my foot violently under the table. Ethan wrapped his arm around Chloe’s waist and spoke in a casual, mocking tone. “You’re already here, Luna. It wouldn’t hurt to hear the offer before you walk out.” He raised his eyes to meet mine. “How much did you make for your debut movie?” Ashley answered for me immediately. “Thirty thousand dollars.” Ethan let out a sharp, mocking chuckle but said nothing. Chloe smiled warmly and spoke up. “We’ll pay you ten times that. Three hundred thousand.” “This movie is a fifth-anniversary wedding gift from my husband.” “He’s funding it, and I’m directing it. He doesn’t care about the budget. He just wants me to be happy.” She leaned against Ethan’s shoulder and smiled at me. “Luna, at this stage in your career, I don’t think anyone else will offer you this kind of money.” Three hundred thousand dollars. Why would they spend that much on a washed-up actress? But I didn’t ask. I was in no position to be picky. Ashley’s fingers dug into my wrist under the table, her nails biting into my flesh. I bit my lip and sat back down. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

After leaving the yacht, Ashley walked beside me, buzzing with excitement. “I heard that yacht is worth tens of millions. It was a birthday gift from Mr. Miller to his wife.” “Did you see the name painted on the stern? CHLOE. It’s her name.” “Mr. Miller is famously devoted to his wife.” I couldn’t help but remember when Ethan and I were together. He was so poor back then. I never had the heart to ask him for gifts. At that time, a popular romance show was airing, and the lipstick the lead actress wore was trending everywhere. It was a fifty-dollar designer lipstick at Sephora. I loved it, but I couldn’t afford it. Once, we passed by the beauty counter, and I dragged him in just to try it on. As we were leaving, I faintly heard the sales clerk whisper, “If you can’t afford it, don’t waste our testers.” In that instant, Ethan’s grip on my hand tightened. A week later, on my birthday, he pulled that exact lipstick out of his pocket and handed it to me. He had worked a brutal twelve-hour shift under the scorching sun at a construction site just to earn the money for it. But while working, his hand had been badly sliced by a rusted steel bar. The wound was deep. A proper clinic visit and stitches would have cost over a hundred dollars. He hid it from me, skipped the clinic, and used his wages to buy the lipstick instead. When I found out, I held his bloody hand and cried my eyes out. “Are you an idiot? I don’t want the lipstick! I don’t even like it!” Ethan had pulled me tightly into his arms and said, “It looks beautiful on you. I just want you to have the best things.” “One day, I’ll give you the world.” That day, I borrowed money from my best friend, Mia. I dragged him to a sketchy, under-the-table clinic to get stitches. To save money, he refused anesthesia. He grit his teeth, sweating profusely from the agonizing pain. But because we had missed the golden window for treatment, his right hand suffered permanent nerve damage. His thumb and index finger could never fully straighten again. Years later, every time I put on that lipstick, I would end up crying until my makeup was ruined. “Chloe is honestly so lucky!” Ashley’s sigh brought me back to reality. She continued, filled with envy, “She actually comes from a wealthy family herself.” “When Mr. Miller was still a nobody, she fought her family to marry him.” “Who would have thought he’d turn out to be a genius? In just a few years, his net worth surpassed her family’s. Even when her family’s business collapsed, she didn’t suffer at all because her husband protects her.” “Look at how he spoils her. Throwing millions at a movie just to let her play director!” “If we had her luck with men, we wouldn’t have to work this hard, would we?” I forced a faint smile but didn’t answer. When I was eighteen, I chose him at first sight. But in the end, I was the one who threw him away. After signing the contract, I spent days studying the script. Three months later, production began. My very first scene was an underwater shoot. We did over thirty takes, but Chloe was still unsatisfied. I was shivering in the freezing water while she stood warm on the deck, shouting through a megaphone: “Do you even know how to act? Stop wasting everyone’s time!” I wasn’t classically trained, but I had been acting for years. There was no way my performance was that bad after thirty takes. But she was the director. Her word was law. I could only apologize and do it again. Suddenly, a figure entered the set. Ethan, dressed in a tailored three-piece suit, stood behind the monitor. I was soaked to the bone, shivering in the freezing pool. He stood on the dry ground, looking down at me with cold, indifferent eyes. On the thirty-fifth take, Chloe yelled “Cut,” her brow still furrowed. I heard her turn to the assistant director. “One more time. The emotion is still lacking.” I took a deep breath, preparing to submerge myself back into the water. Then Ethan spoke. His voice was casual, just two words: “It’s wrap.” The entire set went dead silent. Chloe turned to him, looking annoyed. He took her hand and smiled warmly. “I brought you some afternoon tea. It’ll get cold if you don’t eat it now.” Her face immediately lit up with joy, and she waved her hand to dismiss the crew. I dragged myself out of the pool. Mia rushed over to wrap a thick towel around me. I was shaking violently, sneezing repeatedly. It was early spring, and the water was so cold it made my bones ache. Mia muttered under her breath, her voice laced with anger. “At least ten of those takes were perfectly usable. Thirty-five takes? That’s pure malice.” “She’s doing this on purpose. If Ethan hadn’t stopped her for tea, she would’ve kept you in there all day.” As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears. “If we weren’t waiting to pay off your contract, we would never have taken this garbage movie!” “Why do we have to take abuse from this couple?” Mia wasn’t just my assistant; she was my best friend. Ever since my debut, she had been by my side. We had protected each other in this cutthroat industry for years. I knew she was hurting for me. I dried my hair and gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Different directors have different standards.” “Just bear with it a little longer. We’ll be free soon.”

After my debut movie became a hit, my agency locked me into a predatory ten-year contract. On the day of the signing, they gave me a massive cash advance. I was young and naive, thinking I could easily make the money back. I took every trash script they threw at me just to pay it off. For three years, I worked from 6:00 AM to midnight every single day. Eventually, the debt was cleared, but my reputation was ruined. I was labeled a “talentless sellout.” No good scripts came my way, yet I still had four years left on my contract. I was stuck, rotting away in that agency. Until one night, a high-ranking executive, Mr. Carter, tried to force himself on me in his car. When his hand slid up my thigh, I slapped him across the face, pushed the door open, and jumped out of the moving car. The next day, I demanded Ashley to negotiate my release. I played the secret audio recording I had taken in the car. She went pale and stayed silent for a long time. After consulting the big boss, she delivered the verdict: “Three more movies. All your earnings will go toward the contract termination fee. After that, you’re free.” I sat on a folding chair on set, sipping hot tea. I looked up and noticed the hand-crocheted shawl draped over Chloe’s shoulders. Another actress ran over to compliment it. Chloe adjusted the shawl, a tender smile on her face. “You can’t buy this in stores. My mother-in-law crocheted it for me by hand.” “Wow, made with love!” the actress squealed. “Chloe, your mother-in-law must adore you!” Chloe’s smile widened. “Yes, she treats me like her own daughter.” I stared at the shawl, and the hot tea in my hands suddenly tasted like ash. Many years ago, Ethan’s mother had loved me just as much. I remembered visiting his house when my period started unexpectedly, staining my white skirt red. I had stood in the living room, frozen in embarrassment. His mother hadn’t said a word. She immediately handed me one of her own clean skirts and a box of pads. She patted my hand gently. “Go change, sweetie. I’ll warm up some milk for you.” When I came out of the bathroom, Ethan watched me drink the milk, pinching my nose playfully. “Do you know what my mom’s warm milk means?” “She doesn’t make that for just anyone. She already sees you as her future daughter-in-law.” I stared at my teacup, my throat tightening as tears threatened to spill.

I changed into my costume and got my makeup touched up. As I stepped out of the dressing room, I ran straight into Ethan, who was coming out of the director’s lounge. I kept my head down, trying to brush past him. But as our shoulders crossed, his voice cut through the air. “I heard you’re trying to break your contract.” My footsteps halted. So, he had overheard us. “How much is the termination fee?” he asked. I remained silent. He looked at me with a mocking smirk, pressing further. “One million? Three million? Is five million enough?” I collected myself and looked him in the eye. “What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Miller?” He held a cigarette in his right hand, flicking his lighter with his left to spark a flame. I stared at his hands. He used to be right-handed. He only started using his left hand after that accident. He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “My mother has Alzheimer’s.” He paused. “Lately, she keeps mistaking my wife for you.” He said his mother would call Chloe by my name. She would ramble on about the things Ethan and I used to do, believing her son had married his high school sweetheart. She thought the daughter-in-law standing before her was the same young girl from years ago. His wife was deeply hurt by it, yet she had to play along to keep his mother calm. My heart ached, a bitter taste rising in my throat. No wonder the shawl was crocheted with mimosas—my favorite flower. His mother was sick. Her memory was frozen in time, six years ago. She had forgotten that Ethan and I had broken up a long time ago. Through the haze of smoke, Ethan spoke with chilling indifference. “My wife hasn’t been very happy lately.” “She wanted you in this movie so she could vent a little. Just play along and let her have her fun.” “Once she’s satisfied, I’ll personally pay off your termination fee.” So that was why Chloe had cast me. He was spending three hundred thousand dollars to use me as a punching bag to make his wife feel better. Those thirty-five takes in the freezing water weren’t because she was a perfectionist. It was pure, deliberate torment. I stood in silence for a long time. The cold wind slipped down my collar, making me shiver. I clenched my fists, then slowly let them go. “I understand.” “I hope you keep your word, Mr. Miller.” Even if I knew she was doing it on purpose, what could I do? The contract was signed. I had no right to say no. That night, I developed a high fever. After taking some medicine, I fell into a heavy, feverish sleep. In my dream, I was back in that rainy autumn afternoon. Ethan had rushed onto the movie set, his eyes bloodshot. “Luna,” he pleaded, his face pale and exhausted. “My mom wants to see you.” He reached out to grab my hand. “Please, just come back and see her once.” I pulled my hand away. He stood in the rain, water dripping from his hair down his face. “Don’t do this movie. Please don’t do it,” he begged, his voice cracking. “My mom… she’s dying. Come see her. She keeps calling your name—” “Ethan,” I interrupted, taking a deep breath. “Let’s break up.” I turned to walk away, but he fell to his knees, grabbing my legs. “Baby, don’t do it. Please don’t. I’ll make money… I’ll work myself to death for you…” I let out a cold laugh, prying his fingers off my legs one by one. “How much can you make working yourself to death? Why should I waste my life waiting for you?” “Ethan, a fifty-dollar lipstick cost you two of your fingers.” “Do you have any idea how many of your fingers my salary can buy now?” His face turned ghostly pale. The security guards approached, asking if I knew him. I looked at him with an emotionless face. “I don’t know him.” They dragged him away. That day, I never looked back.

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My neighbor just had a baby, and her husband died shortly after. She always had watery, reddish eyes. She would sit at her doorstep holding her baby, complaining that her pipes were broken and that she was completely soaked. All the married men in the building would go into her apartment to help her for free. If any of their wives complained even a little, the men would scowl. “She lost her husband at such a young age. What’s wrong with helping her? Can’t you show some compassion?” With this exact trick, she managed to get three neighboring couples divorced. Last month, Ethan and I moved in. On our very first night, she knocked on our door. Wearing a loose robe, with red, teary eyes, she looked at my husband, looking absolutely pitiful. “Mr. Vance, the baby won’t stop crying, and my breast milk is severely clogged. It hurts so bad… can you please help me look at it?” Ethan didn’t say a word. He just turned to look at me. I stood up from the couch, picked up my professional lactation massage kit, and walked over with a sweet smile. “A clogged duct?” “What a coincidence. I happen to be a certified lactation consultant, and I absolutely love cleaning out ‘clogged’ trash.” 1 I slipped on my slippers, walked right past Ethan, and stood in front of Chloe Sterling. The motion-sensor light in the hallway was on, clearly illuminating her silk slip nightgown. The fabric was incredibly thin, and the neckline dipped extremely low. As a draft blew through the hallway, she intentionally shivered, leaning weakly against the doorframe. “Mrs. Vance, you’re still awake too.” She managed to squeeze out a weak smile, but her eyes kept drifting past my shoulder, staring straight at Ethan. “Actually, I was just about to sleep, but you woke me up.” I shook the lactation kit in my hand, making a crisp clinking sound. “Let’s go. Didn’t you need help with a clogged duct? Lead the way.” Chloe clearly didn’t expect me to step in myself. She froze, awkwardly crossing her hands over her chest. “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Vance. This kind of thing is pretty awkward, and it might make another woman uncomfortable. Mr. Vance is strong and quick, he can probably get it resolved in no time…” “You think it’s appropriate for a man to massage your breasts?!” I pushed her apartment door wide open and walked straight inside without hesitation. “It’s much better for a woman like me to handle it.” Chloe’s apartment layout was identical to ours, but the interior style was completely different. The living room was filled with a strong, cloying perfume. A few pieces of lace lingerie were scattered on the couch, and two wine glasses sat on the coffee table. This didn’t look like the home of a struggling single mother who just had a baby. It looked like a love motel ready to welcome guests at any moment. “Where are we doing this?” I turned and asked her. Chloe dragged her feet as she walked in, pointing toward the bedroom. Her voice was barely a whisper. “It was hurting so badly just now, but I don’t know what happened… it feels a bit better now…” I walked up to her and zipped open my kit. My professional massage hands went to work immediately. I prepped the tools for a solid thirty seconds, letting the scent of the essential oil fill the air. “Mrs. Vance, your hands are too heavy. My son is sleeping in the bedroom.” Chloe covered her chest, took two steps back, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. “Just being thorough,” I said, putting my kit heavily back on the coffee table. I turned to look at her. “Otherwise, if it gets clogged again in the middle of the night, you’ll have to go knocking on someone else’s door.” Chloe’s expression shifted. She took a deep breath, putting on that tragic, helpless face again. “Mrs. Vance, is there some kind of misunderstanding between us? I really couldn’t handle it myself. It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t have a man to rely on…” “If you don’t have a man, you can hire a cleaning service, call the building manager, or call 911 if it’s a real emergency.” I cut her off, my eyes falling on the high-heeled, furry slippers on her feet. “But Chloe, it’s past 11 PM. Knocking on a married neighbor’s door in that outfit while holding a baby… that’s not a very good habit.” “You—” Before she could argue, I walked right past her toward the front door. Halfway there, I stopped, pointing at a pair of size 10 men’s leather shoes sitting by her shoe rack. “You bought the wrong size,” I said without turning back. “Ethan wears a size 9. If you’ve got your eyes on my husband, you should at least get his shoe size right.” The moment I slammed her door shut, I could clearly hear the sharp sound of her high-heeled slippers violently stomping the floor inside. When I got back home, Ethan was sitting on the couch researching some documents. Seeing me walk in, he immediately handed me a glass of warm water. “Handled?” he asked. “Just a homewrecking bitch trying her luck,” I said, taking a sip. “Watch your step when you leave for work. Don’t let her get close to you.” Ethan sneered, sliding his tablet over to me. “No need to wait for later. She’s already starting her drama right now.” I looked down. It was the neighborhood’s Snapchat group. Just a minute ago, Chloe had posted a message. 02 The message in the Snapchat group was dripping with victimhood. “Thank you to the new neighbor, Mrs. Vance, for coming over in the middle of the night to help me. Even though her massage was a bit too rough and my chest is still hurting, I’m really grateful. I think Mrs. Vance might have misunderstood me, though. She said some really hurtful things… It’s just so hard raising a baby alone. If I wasn’t desperate, I would never bother anyone. I’m so sorry for disturbing everyone’s rest.” Less than thirty seconds after she posted this, those lurking married men in the neighborhood jumped out like sharks smelling blood. Apartment 302, Marcus: “Chloe, don’t take it to heart. Young people these days are just hot-headed and lack empathy.” Apartment 501, Brad: “Exactly. We’re all neighbors. What’s wrong with helping out? She’s a single mother in pain. How could someone say such nasty things just because she knocked on a door?” Apartment 604, Kevin: “Chloe, next time you need help, just shout in the group. We’ll come over. You don’t need to take attitude from certain people.” Looking at this row of “righteous” comments, I was practically laughing from anger. They were basically calling me cold-hearted to my face. Ethan grabbed his phone, his fingers flying across the screen, ready to fire back. But I pressed my hand over his. “Don’t waste your breath.” “Arguing in the group chat is exactly what she wants. It’ll only make her look more like the ‘victim.’ Just wait. Tomorrow, I’ll make her dig her own grave.” The next day was the weekend. I got up early, changed into my workout gear, and went downstairs to jog in the community garden. As I approached the gazebo, I saw Chloe sitting on a bench. Today, she had changed into a floral sundress, her long hair draped over her shoulders. She was gently dabbing her eyes with a tissue. A few older women and two middle-aged men were gathered around her, talking heatedly with indignant expressions. I slowed my pace and walked over. “Morning, everyone,” I greeted them with a smile, sitting down in an empty spot nearby. The air instantly went dead silent. The men who had been talking loudly a second ago immediately averted their gaze, pretending to look at the sky and the trees. Chloe shrunk back slightly, acting terrified. “Morning, Mrs. Vance.” “Morning, Chloe.” I wiped my sweat, keeping my tone casual. “Is your chest feeling any better? I actually double-checked, and the technique I used is completely safe for nursing mothers. If it’s still hurting, you might want to see a doctor. It could be mastitis.” Chloe’s expression stiffened. “It’s fine. It felt much better when I woke up this morning. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Vance.” “Of course,” I nodded, then turned to Marcus from Apartment 302, who had been the loudest critic online. “Marcus, I heard you’re always looking out for Chloe. Since she was in so much pain last night, why didn’t she knock on your door instead?” Marcus’s wife happened to be walking back from grocery shopping nearby. Hearing this, her face instantly darkened. Marcus stammered, “I—I was asleep!” “Oh, I see,” I said, pretending to realize something. “By the way, last night, I noticed a pair of size 10 men’s shoes in Chloe’s entryway. Did you lend them to her, Marcus?” “Well, it makes sense. A single mother needs a pair of men’s shoes by the door to keep intruders away.” The moment I said this, the eyes of several women nearby turned incredibly sharp. Chloe panicked and stood up abruptly. “Mrs. Vance! Watch your mouth! Those shoes belonged to my late husband. I couldn’t bear to throw them away, so I kept them as a keepsake. Is there a problem with that?” “Of course not.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and pulled up a photo. I had taken it on my way into her apartment last night. I zoomed in on the photo and thrust it right in front of her face. “But I heard your husband died in a car accident a year ago? This pair of Ferragamo men’s loafers is from their brand-new fall collection released just last month. And they happen to match the women’s slippers you’re wearing today. Buying both pairs together costs over twelve hundred dollars.” I watched her face turn completely pale as I said, word by word, “Wow, Chloe, you and your late husband must have a love that transcends death. He’s been gone for a year, yet you’re still buying matching couple’s shoes with him?” 03 There was a deathly silence. Everyone’s eyes locked onto my phone screen, and then they all slowly turned to look at Chloe’s feet. Chloe’s face went completely white. She tried to hide her feet, but there was nowhere to tuck them. The identical buckles. Without a doubt, they were matching couple’s shoes. The men who had just been defending Chloe now looked incredibly uncomfortable. In particular, Brad from Apartment 501 subconsciously tucked his feet backward. How convenient. Brad happened to wear a size 10. Brad’s wife, Tiffany, who was notorious for her explosive temper, slammed her grocery bag onto the ground. She pointed right at Brad’s nose and screamed, “Brad! You took twelve hundred dollars out of our joint account last month and said it was for your mother’s medicine! You spent it on shoes for this bitch?!” “Honey, let me explain! I didn’t buy those shoes!” Brad sweated profusely, trying to defend himself. “If you didn’t buy them, why are you hiding your feet? Matching shoes? I didn’t know you had such a romantic streak!” Tiffany didn’t give him a second to breathe. She lunged forward and slapped him across the face. The scene immediately descended into chaos. Chloe was completely caught off guard by this sudden turn of events. She tried to grab Tiffany’s hand. “Tiffany, please don’t misunderstand, it really wasn’t Brad…” “Get away from me! You husband-stealing whore!” Tiffany shoved her hard. Chloe fell onto the grass, clutching her ankle. Her eyes welled up, and fat tears started rolling down her cheeks. Before, this pitiful act would have had men rushing to help her up. But now, under the murderous glares of their own wives, not a single man dared to move. I watched the drama unfold coldly, said nothing more, and turned around to continue my jog. For the next few days, the building was exceptionally quiet. Chloe didn’t post a single thing in the group chat, and the male neighbors went completely silent. Every night, the sound of breaking plates echoed from Brad’s apartment. Marcus’s wife simply packed up, took the kids, and went to stay at her parents’ house out of state, showing no signs of coming back anytime soon. But I knew Chloe wouldn’t just take this lying down. A woman like her, who was used to wrapping men around her finger, couldn’t stand losing her reputation. What she hated most was losing control of the narrative. She was waiting for an opportunity. An opportunity to completely flip the script and crush me. On Wednesday night, Ethan was in the study hosting a video conference, while I was in the living room organizing a PR proposal for a client. Suddenly, a frantic knocking came from the door, accompanied by the crying voice of Chloe’s five-year-old son, Leo. “Ethan! Open the door! My mommy collapsed! Please help her!” I walked to the door and looked through the peephole. In the hallway, Leo was wearing thin pajamas, pounding on our door. Meanwhile, Chloe was lying on the floor a few feet away near the elevator, her face pale and her eyes tightly closed. Under normal circumstances, seeing a five-year-old child crying like this would make anyone open the door immediately. But I didn’t budge. Because I clearly saw that Chloe, who was supposedly unconscious on the floor, was clutching her phone tightly in her right hand—and the screen was still lit. Moreover, the spot she chose to collapse was highly strategic. It perfectly avoided the blind spot of the hallway’s security camera. Most importantly, although Leo was crying, his eyes kept darting back to Chloe, as if waiting for a cue. She was putting on a tragic show, and she was using her own kid to do it. “What’s going on out there?” Ethan heard the noise and came out of the study. I put my index finger to my lips, signaling him to be quiet, and then pointed at the peephole. Ethan took a look, his brows furrowing instantly. He pulled out his phone, preparing to call 91

“Don’t call yet,” I stopped him. “If you call 911 now, by the time the ambulance arrives, everyone in the building will think you ignored a dying neighbor at your doorstep.” “Then what do we do? Just let her lie out there?” Ethan whispered. I smirked, looking at the hidden pinhole camera we had installed right above our peephole. “Since she loves acting so much, let’s give her a bigger stage.” 04 The crying and screaming outside grew louder, and Leo’s voice was getting hoarse. The commotion finally drew out the other residents on our floor. Mrs. Gable, the busybody from across the hall, was the first to open her door. Seeing the scene, she gasped and rushed over to hug Leo. “Oh my god! What a tragedy! Chloe, Chloe, wake up!” Mrs. Gable patted Chloe’s face, then turned to slam her hand against our door, screaming, “Are the people inside dead?! Can’t you hear the child crying?! Get out here and help!” With Mrs. Gable’s screaming, neighbors from upstairs and downstairs started poking their heads out. Soon, a crowd gathered in front of our door. Most of them were nosy seniors, but a few of the male neighbors rushed over too. Looking at our tightly shut door, the crowd grew furious. “What is wrong with the new family? They are so heartless!” “Exactly! It’s one thing for her to be sharp-tongued normally, but this is a life-or-death situation, and they won’t even open the door!” “Ethan! Be a man and get out here! Hiding inside makes you a coward!” Someone in the crowd yelled, and immediately after, our door was kicked hard twice. Under the crowd’s shouting, Chloe finally “woke up.” She leaned weakly against Mrs. Gable, panting heavily, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t… don’t blame Ethan. It’s just my own poor health.” She spoke with a barely audible voice, but her eyes were fixed on our door. “I just heard that Ethan’s mother is a doctor, so I figured Ethan might know first aid. That’s why I had Leo knock. Maybe they aren’t home.” This was textbook manipulation. She managed to explain why she only knocked on our door, gave us an excuse to save face, and painted herself as a sweet, understanding victim. As expected, the crowd’s anger boiled over. “Not home? Bullshit! I was just walking downstairs. Their apartment has the brightest lights in the whole building!” “Break the door down! I want to see how they can look us in the eye!” Several agitated men began looking around for tools, looking ready to smash their way in. Ethan stood beside me, his face grim. He clenched his fists and said coldly, “This is getting out of hand. If they break the door, we’ll look guilty. Let me go out and set them straight.” “If you go out, you fall right into her trap,” I held him back, my eyes cold. Chloe wanted us to open the door. The moment we stepped out, no matter what we said, the angry mob would see it as a heartless excuse. The banging on our door grew louder, and the metal frame groaned under the pressure. Leo’s crying and the neighbors’ cursing woven together like a suffocating net, tightening around our space. “Let’s call the police,” Ethan said, his phone in hand. “No need,” I sneered as I looked at the footage on my phone, watching Chloe’s pale but secretly smug face. I opened my Snapchat, found the chat with the property manager, Manager Carter, and sent him the video captured by our pinhole camera, along with several documents I had spent all of yesterday digging up. “Let them smash it,” I pulled Ethan to sit back down on the couch, calmly pouring two glasses of water. “Just three more minutes. The real climax of this show is about to begin.”

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On the day of our divorce, my ex-husband pointed aggressively at me and my daughter, his face contorted with rage. “Take your little jinx of a daughter and get the hell out of my life! As long as she’s around, the Miller family will never have a single day of peace!” All because my daughter had pointed at his beloved sedan earlier that day and whispered one word: “Boom.” Right after he hit the road, his tire blew out. The car veered off course, crashing headfirst into the guardrail. Although he wasn’t seriously hurt, the sheer terror of the crash left him completely impotent. He was absolutely convinced that our daughter had cursed him. Without a single word of protest, I signed the divorce papers, took my daughter, and walked away with absolutely nothing to my name. On New Year’s Day, I took my daughter with me to a local café for a blind date. My daughter pointed at the first man, an Ivy League elite, and whispered: “Abuse.” I politely declined him. Later, I heard he was arrested for domestic violence that left his ex-wife permanently disabled. My daughter pointed at the second man, a crypto trust-fund playboy, and whispered: “Bust.” I turned around and walked out immediately. Within a week, he was busted in a massive drug raid. It wasn’t until we met a rugged veteran driving a beat-up old Jeep that my daughter smiled for the very first time. She pointed at him and whispered: “Gold.” When my ex-husband’s family heard I was dating a broke loser, they threw a party with firecrackers to celebrate my misery. But what they didn’t know was that Carter’s tire had blown out because his cheap mother, Helen, had swapped his tires with expired, recalled ones at a shady junkyard just to “save her son some money.” And the “broke loser” my daughter had chosen for me? He was about to inherit a multi-billion-dollar empire.

Helen Miller stood by the iron gates of her mansion, holding a massive strip of firecrackers, her face wrinkled with a nasty, mocking grin. She flicked her lighter and spat on the ground right in front of me and Mason Cole, who was gently holding my daughter. “Good riddance, you trashy leech! Today is New Year’s Day. Blasting you two freeloaders away will bring fortune and blessings back to my son!” The firecrackers exploded with deafening bangs. Red paper debris rained down, some landing in my daughter Lily’s hair. I quickly covered Lily’s ears, my fingers tightening around the hot, freshly stamped divorce certificate in my hand. Mason’s mud-splattered Jeep sat idling by the curb, its hood vibrating in sync with the explosions. The neighbors gathered around, pointing and whispering behind their hands. “Look at that guy’s car. It’s dirtier than a garbage truck. Avery must be truly desperate.” “The Miller family is worth billions. Now that she’s divorced Carter, she’ll probably end up begging on the streets with that baggage of a kid.” Carter’s luxury sports car pulled up, the window rolling down halfway. He held a thick cigar, blowing a cloud of suffocating smoke directly into my face, making Lily cough violently. “Avery, a trash collector’s ride is exactly what you deserve. Just do me a favor and beg in another city. Don’t embarrass the Miller name.” Lily stared quietly at the shiny, spinning rims of Carter’s car. She reached out her tiny hand, pointing directly at his brand-new front tire. “Pop.” Carter’s face darkened instantly. He threw his cigar butt right at our feet. “You little brat, you dare curse me again? Mom! Go buy more firecrackers! I need to blast this evil energy away!” He slammed on the gas. The engine roared, and the sports car shot forward like a bullet. Helen was just about to run and buy more firecrackers, cursing us under her breath. But the moment Carter’s car crossed the intersection, his front-left wheel suddenly detached. It went rolling wildly into the bushes. The car lost balance. The chassis slammed against the asphalt, sending sparks flying everywhere before the vehicle screeched to a halt, black smoke billowing from under the hood. The crowd went dead silent, followed by a wave of gasps. The lighter slipped from Helen’s hand, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. Lily turned around, reaching into the backseat of the Jeep, and flashed a sweet smile at the rugged, bearded man. “Gold.” Mason’s hand froze on the steering wheel. He looked down at Lily, a rare warmth softening his stern eyes. He fumbled around and pulled out a warm, foil-wrapped pulled pork slider. “Eat up while it’s hot. Double meat, no cilantro, just the way you like it. I saved it especially for you.” Lily took a big bite, sweet BBQ sauce smudging the corner of her mouth. Carter dragged himself out of the smoking wreck, his forehead bleeding. He pointed a shaking finger at us and screamed. “Avery! It’s you! You made your freaky daughter do this! I’m going to ruin you!” I pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, not giving him a single glance. Mason got in, shifted gears, and stepped on the gas with practiced ease. As we started to pull away, someone threw an empty soda can at our windshield. The Jeep hit a bump at that exact second. The can missed our roof entirely, bouncing back and hitting Helen squarely on her forehead. “Ow! What idiot threw that! My head! I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding!” In the rearview mirror, Helen was rolling on the grass clutching her head, while Carter screamed in useless, impotent rage. Mason kept his eyes on the road, his grip firm on the steering wheel. His voice was deep and steady. “Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, nobody will ever lay a finger on you or Lily again.”

Mason parked the Jeep outside a run-down apartment building in the shady part of town. The hallway lights were completely broken. Up on the third floor, the keyhole of our apartment door had been maliciously filled with superglue. Lily tugged at my jeans, pointing at the lock. “Broken.” I was just about to call a locksmith when Mason stepped forward. With a single, powerful kick—*BANG*—the heavy door flew open, dust raining down from the frame. The apartment was stripped bare. Dirty footprints covered the hardwood floor. Every piece of furniture the Millers had bought was gone. My and Lily’s old clothes had been shredded into pieces, thrown on the floor, and trampled into the black mud. Lily ran to the corner of the room, pulling a dirty ceramic bowl out from under a pile of trash. “Treasure.” My eyes welled with tears. I was about to tell her to throw the dirty thing away. But Mason took the bowl from her, shining his tactical flashlight on the bottom of it. “This is a genuine Ming Dynasty blue-and-white ceramic bowl. It has a tiny chip, but to the right collector, this is easily worth fifty grand.” He held up five fingers with a quiet grin. Suddenly, the sharp clacking of high heels echoed from the stairwell. Carter walked in with Tiffany Vance clinging to his arm. A large white bandage was plastered over his forehead. Tiffany pinched her nose in disgust, using her expensive stiletto to kick aside the shredded fabric on the floor. “Babe, is this the dog kennel your ex-wife lives in? I can’t even find a clean spot to step. How pathetic.” Carter threw a property deed relinquishment form right at my face. “Sign it. The down payment for this crappy apartment came from my family. You walked out of the divorce with nothing. You have no right to stay here.” I stared at the paper, my hands shaking with pure anger. Tiffany lunged forward to grab my keys, her long acrylic nails almost scratching Lily’s eye. “What are you looking at, you little orphan? And you, you washed-up housewife, get the hell out of here!” Lily stared directly at the bridge of Tiffany’s nose, pointing her tiny finger. “Fake.” Tiffany shrieked, instantly lunging forward to claw at Lily’s face. “You brat! Who are you calling fake? My face is one hundred percent natural!” Mason stepped in front of us, grabbing Tiffany’s wrist in a iron grip. Tiffany writhed, trying to scratch Mason’s face with her free hand. “Let go of me! You broke gigolo! Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have my guys gouge your eyes out!” Lily peeked out from behind Mason’s leg. “Nose. Fake.” Mason suddenly let go. Unable to stop her own momentum, Tiffany stumbled forward and smashed her face hard against the wooden doorframe. Tiffany clutched her nose, screaming in agony as blood poured through her fingers. When she looked up, the bridge of her nose was completely bent to the left. The silicone implant was visibly pushing against her skin. Her entire face looked monstrously deformed. Terrified, Carter stumbled backward, grabbing the hysterical Tiffany and running down the stairs. The next day, I sold the Ming bowl for fifty thousand dollars and immediately enrolled Lily in the best private preschool in the city. However, the principal called me hours later to cancel her enrollment. Carter was pulling strings behind the scenes to blacklist us. I spent days applying for jobs, but every door was slammed in my face. Finally, Mason took me to a small, hidden security firm he ran. Inside, a few burly men were gathered around a computer screen, watching the stock market. The screen was a sea of red. A bald, muscular guy was slamming his fist on the desk, cursing. Lily, holding her baby bottle, walked over to the monitor. She tapped on the stock ticker that was plummeting the fastest. “Moon.” The bald guy looked at Mason, who was quietly polishing his combat boots. Mason didn’t even look up. “Go all in. If we lose, it’s on me. If we win, buy the kid some candy.” The guys gritted their teeth and poured all their capital into the stock. Ten minutes later, the stock line shot straight up, hitting the daily limit. The office erupted into wild cheers. The tough-looking guards hugged each other, laughing like kids. Just then, a gold-embossed envelope was slipped under the front door. It was an invitation to Carter and Tiffany’s engagement party. They had sent it to me on purpose. My grip tightened around the heavy paper. Lily picked up a black marker and drew a messy black cloud right over Carter’s name. “Doom.” Mason stood up, putting on his polished boots and a well-fitted, charcoal-grey suit. “We’re going. Why wouldn’t we? If someone begs for a slap in the face, it’s only polite to deliver.” The engagement party was held at a five-star hotel. The parking lot was packed with multi-million-dollar supercars. Helen Miller, holding a glass of expensive red wine, swaggered toward me the moment we walked in. “Well, well. If it isn’t the cursed leech we threw out. How did you even get in wearing such cheap rags?”

With a nasty flick of her wrist, she splashed her red wine right at me. Mason reacted instantly. He stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it around me, taking the wet splash entirely on his back. On the grand stage, Carter stood proudly, his arm wrapped around Tiffany, who was gently stroking her flat stomach. “Ladies and gentlemen, today is not just our engagement. I have another incredible piece of news to share.” “Tiffany is pregnant with the Miller heir! We’ve already done the ultrasound—it’s a boy!” The crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Carter looked down at me with a smirk. “Unlike some useless women who can’t even produce a proper heir and treat a useless girl like a treasure.” Lily, sitting comfortably on Mason’s strong arm, pointed at Tiffany’s stomach. “Empty.” Carter’s face turned the color of raw liver. He slammed the microphone onto the stage. The screeching feedback silenced the entire ballroom. He stormed down the stage, raising his hand to slap Lily. “You little brat! I’m going to tear your mouth apart today!” His hand was caught mid-air. Holding Lily securely with one arm, Mason gripped Carter’s wrist with his other hand. With a sickening *crack*, Carter screamed and fell to his knees. Tiffany screamed, rushing forward in her gown. “Security! Where the hell is security! Beat these bums to death! I’ll take the blame!” Suddenly, the massive crystal chandelier overhead made a strange creaking noise. Lily tugged at Mason’s collar, pointing backward. “Back.” Mason took a massive step back, pulling me with him. The next second, the giant chandelier came crashing down. Glass shattered and flew everywhere. A sharp piece of crystal sliced right through the front of Tiffany’s dress. To everyone’s shock, a white foam pillow rolled out from her skirt. The room fell into a dead silence. Everyone stared at the wine-stained pillow on the floor. Carter forgot about his broken wrist, his face turning pale. The guests began to whisper, mock laughter spreading through the room. “So the pregnancy was fake? He was just bragging about a baby boy. This is hilarious.” “The Millers have completely embarrassed themselves. This isn’t an engagement, it’s a circus.” Carter kicked the foam pillow away, turning on Tiffany with roaring fury. “You lying bitch! You tricked me! You said you were carrying my baby! What the hell is this!” Tiffany pointed a trembling finger at us, trying to shift the blame. “Carter! It’s them! They brought their curse into this room! They ruined our luck!” “The moment that brat said ‘Empty,’ my stomach started hurting! She’s using black magic!” Carter’s bloodshot eyes locked onto us, his face twisted with pure hatred. “Yes! It’s you! You little jinx! Ever since you were born, my life has been hell!” “Security! Break that brat’s legs! I’ll make sure she never walks again!” Dozens of security guards carrying batons surrounded us. Holding his broken wrist, Carter barked orders frantically. “Beat them! I’ll pay for whatever happens! They are not leaving this building alive!” Mason shielded me behind him, adjusting his hold on Lily. “Close your eyes, Avery. Cover Lily’s eyes too. Don’t worry. Count to ten, and I’ll take you home.” I closed my eyes, and the sound of heavy thuds, groans, and bones snapping filled the air. “One, two, three…” When I opened my eyes at ten, the floor was covered with groaning security guards. Mason calmly patted the dust off his sleeves and held Lily close. Suddenly, a group of police officers burst into the hall. Carter’s expression changed instantly to one of victimhood. “Officer! Right here! This thug just assaulted my security team and ruined my party!” The lead officer frowned and pulled out handcuffs. Carter whispered something into the officer’s ear, and the officer’s expression hardened. “I’ve already had the security footage deleted,” Carter whispered to us with a smug grin. “No one can prove it was self-defense. Walk.” Just then, Mr. Sterling, the most powerful real estate tycoon in the state, walked into the lobby. Carter immediately rushed over to him. “Mr. Sterling! You’re just in time! These lowlifes are causing trouble on your property! They even beat up my guards!” Mr. Sterling walked right past Carter and bowed slightly to Mason. “I was just in the security room and happened to retrieve the backup hard drive,” Mr. Sterling said calmly, handing the drive to the police officer. “I wanted to see who dared to start trouble on my property.” “This video shows everything very clearly. Mr. Miller initiated the assault and ordered his men to break a child’s legs.” Carter’s smug smile froze. The police immediately shut down the venue. As we walked out of the hotel, we saw Carter crouching by the curb, answering a phone call. His face was ghostly pale. Lily looked back at Carter’s green silk tie. She pointed at the back of his head, then pointed at Tiffany, who was whispering to another man in the shadow of the parking lot. “Cheat.”

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When my mom got divorced, she gave up every single penny of her share of the assets just to win custody of me—a girl suffering from severe anterograde amnesia. She used to hold me tight and whisper, “Amber, even if your memory only lasts twenty-four hours, I will spend the rest of my life being your sticky note.” To pay for my medical bills, she worked two exhausting jobs, aging herself into an early grave, until we both ended up dead in that cramped, suffocating rented apartment. But then, I opened my eyes again. We were back to the exact day of the divorce, back to the moment they were deciding who got which child. My heart surged with pure joy. I thought I could finally give her a beautiful surprise with my fully recovered memory. But before I could even open my mouth, she pointed her finger right at my nose, her eyes filled with nothing but cold disgust. “Robert, you take Amber. Leo stays with me.” “I’m not ruining my life dragging a brain-damaged liability around.” At that very second, the freezing truth hit me. I wasn’t the only one who had been reborn.

Robert’s brows furrowed in annoyance. “Watch your mouth! The kid is standing right there!” Sarah rubbed her temples exhaustedly, throwing me a sideways glance. “Does it even matter? She won’t remember a single thing tomorrow anyway.” I froze. This habit of rubbing her temples—she only started doing that *after* the divorce in our past life. Back then, she had to work two jobs to afford my medical bills. Whenever she was running on zero sleep, she would rub her temples to force herself to stay awake. So, Sarah had traveled back in time too. And she had already made up her mind to throw me away. A wave of intense hurt rushed over me. I couldn’t help but burst out: “How do you know I won’t remember? Actually, I—” Before I could finish, Sarah’s eyes turned bloodshot. She lunged forward and slapped me across the face. “How do I know? Because every single morning, I’m the one who has to tell you what day it is! What you need to do! What happened to you!” “One year, two years, ten years… you can’t go to school, you can’t get a job, you never make any progress!” “I’ve been sick to death of you for a long time! Honestly, even if you weren’t sick, I wouldn’t want you anymore!” The burning pain on my cheek cleared my head. Suddenly, a flood of details I had long forgotten rushed back into my mind. In the beginning of our past life, Sarah really was a saint to me. She would cover my headboard with colorful sticky notes, never getting tired of answering the exact same questions twenty times a day. Every time she got her paycheck, she would take me straight to the hospital. Within six months, we had visited almost every famous specialist in the state. But every doctor said the same depressing thing. “Cases of this type are extremely rare. We can only offer conservative treatment.” “As for recovery? It’s hard to say. You should probably prepare yourself for the fact that she might never recover.” As the diagnoses grew bleaker, the light in Sarah’s eyes slowly died. Robert didn’t want me either, but he was clearly freaked out by Sarah’s sudden hysteria. “Why the hell did you hit her? Amber is a teenage girl now, is it even appropriate for her to live with me?!” “And I’m way too busy with work! How am I supposed to look after her?!” I grabbed Robert’s arm, tears streaming down my face. “Dad, I promise I’ll take care of myself.” “I’ll write everything down in a notebook so I won’t bother you. Please, just choose me.” At that moment, the look in Sarah’s eyes turned incredibly bitter. “Ha. I’m the one who worked myself to death raising you, and now you’re playing the devoted daughter with him? What an ungrateful little leech.” “Fine. You want to stay with your dad? Go ahead. He’s all yours!” I held onto Robert’s arm, lowering my head to hide my devastating grief. *That’s not it, Mom. It’s just that this time, I don’t want to be the anchor that drags you down to the bottom of the ocean.* She was beautiful. After the divorce in our past life, she had tried dating. But whenever a man came over and saw my condition, they would give her a polite, awkward look. “Sarah, let’s be real. Your daughter is a bottomless money pit. Marrying you means feeding two mouths forever. No sane guy is going to sign up for that.” That night was the first time Sarah ever laid a hand on me. “You’re a curse! You ruined the only chance of happiness I had left!” “If I had known, I would have never been soft-hearted enough to take you! My life is miserable because of you!” So, in this new life, I wanted to let her have her freedom. Robert stayed silent for a long time. In the end, Sarah traded her entire share of the house and the car just to get him to agree. “Fine,” Robert said. “Since you’re leaving me the house and the car, I’ll count that as child support for taking this girl off your hands.” They signed the divorce agreement incredibly fast, as if Sarah was terrified I would change my mind and cling to her if she delayed by even a second. Sarah immediately started looking for a cheap apartment, saying she would move out with Leo the second she found one. Even though we were still living under the same roof for those few days, she treated me like literal air. She cooked slow-roasted BBQ ribs for Leo, and the savory aroma filled the entire house. Robert had “forgotten” to leave me lunch money multiple times. Smelling the food, my stomach cramped painfully from hunger. I couldn’t help but creep over to her. “Mom… can I have some?” She didn’t even look up as she wiped the kitchen counter. “You don’t have a mom starting today. Better get used to it now.”

The moment the front door slammed shut, I heard Leo’s whiny voice echoing in the hallway: “Mom, I want Ben & Jerry’s!” Sarah’s voice was so sweet it could drip honey. “Of course, sweetie. Mom will take you to get some right now.” I slid down against the wall, clutching my starving, aching stomach, and let my tears finally spill over. From that day on, I had to teach myself how to cook. My hands were constantly covered in painful blisters from hot oil splatters. Meanwhile, Sarah enrolled Leo in multiple expensive after-school clubs, driving him back and forth every single day. I stayed at Robert’s house, doing his laundry, cleaning his room. But whenever I brought up going back to school, Robert would just sneer. “With that goldfish brain of yours? Why waste the money? Don’t worry, your dad has a better plan for you.” A few evenings later, he came home with a man and his teenage son. He dragged the boy—who was visibly obese and looked mentally challenged—right up to me. “Amber, meet Toby. You two are going to be best friends from now on.” Toby’s dad scanned me up and down like he was inspecting a piece of meat at a grocery store. “She looks decent. A bit skinny, though. I wonder if she’s got good hips for breeding.” “Our family wants a boy and a girl. If she doesn’t give us a boy first, she’ll have to keep trying.” Robert laughed, patting my shoulder. “She’s still young, right? Give her a few years to fill out, and she’ll look great.” Toby, whose eyes were completely vacant, looked around the room. Suddenly, he grabbed my hand and tried to shove my fingers into his mouth. “What is the meaning of this, Dad?!” I screamed, shaking Toby off in terror. Robert shoved me hard. “Why are you yelling?! Don’t scare Toby!” “You’re a girl with a broken brain. You think a normal family like ours can support you forever?” “Mr. Miller here is looking for a child bride who can take care of Toby. If you two get together, I won’t have to worry about your future anymore.” I couldn’t believe my ears. Panic-stricken, I turned to look at Sarah, who was packing her last box in the living room. Her face tightened slightly. “Are you insane, Robert? She’s only fourteen! You’re selling your own daughter?” Robert raised his voice defensively. “You’re the one abandoning her! You have no right to lecture me!” “And who’s selling her? In some countries, girls her age are already promised to families. I’m doing her a favor.” Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but Mr. Miller spoke up in a slow, casual tone. “Well, we don’t just take anyone. I used my connections to get Amber a discretionary enrollment at Oakwood High. If you guys agree, she starts classes with Toby tomorrow.” “If Toby is happy with her, the promised twenty-thousand-dollar payout will be transferred to you immediately.” Like a drowning person reaching for a lifeline, I grabbed Sarah’s sleeve. But she hesitated for a second, then coldly pried my fingers off. “I want half of that money. Wire ten thousand to my account.” The Millers left shortly after. My blood ran ice-cold. I could only force my numb throat to make a sound. “Dad, Mom, please listen to me. My illness is gone. I’m cured.” “I remember eating bagels yesterday morning, instant noodles last night, and the day before, we watched *Gossip Girl* on TV.” “I’m normal now. Please, don’t do this to me.” Both of them looked genuinely shocked. But then Leo chimed in from the couch. “What about Monday? Do you remember what you told me on Monday, Amber?” I froze. I had traveled back in time just two days ago. Of course I had no memory of what happened on Monday. Robert’s expression returned to its usual coldness, and Sarah let out a sharp sneer. “Good thing Leo is smart. You just kept a notebook for two days and thought you could fool me?” “It’s not like they’re forcing you to get married tomorrow. Stop being so dramatic! Didn’t you say you wanted to go to school? Now you have the chance, so shut up and take it!” I shook my head violently, dropping straight to my knees. “No, please. Just take me to the hospital for a check-up, you’ll see!” “I’m really cured! I can go to school, get a job, and take care of you guys! I don’t need to be sold to Toby!” Leo yawned, looking bored. “Mom, she’s so loud. I’m sleepy. Come read me a story.” “I got an A on my spelling test today. Can we get ice cream after school tomorrow as a reward?” Sarah didn’t want to waste another second on me. She picked Leo up with a glowing smile. “Of course, my perfect boy. Mom will buy you whatever you want.” As they walked past me, I tried to grab her hem, but she kicked my hand away. I kept frantically trying to prove to Robert that I was sane, but he grabbed me by the collar and threw me into my dark bedroom. “Enough. If you still remember all this tomorrow morning, we’ll talk.” That night, I hugged my knees in the dark, crying until I threw up.

The next morning, before the sun even rose, I was already waiting in the living room. If I could prove I had my memory, if I could prove I was normal, maybe I could escape this living hell. Even if there was only a one-in-a-million chance. The moment I heard Robert’s bedroom door click open, I lunged forward. “Mr. Miller came yesterday! He offered a twenty-thousand-dollar payout! Leo ate chips, and Mom promised him ice cream!” “Look! I remember everything perfectly! Doesn’t this prove I’m cured?” Robert gasped and turned to Sarah. A flash of surprise crossed Sarah’s face, but she quickly masked it with a scowl. “Look at your bloodshot eyes. You stayed awake all night on purpose, didn’t you?” In our past life, Sarah and I had realized that if I didn’t sleep at night, there was a small chance I could retain the previous day’s memories. Now, she was using that exact piece of knowledge as a weapon against me. The Millers’ car was already waiting outside. My parents grabbed my arms and pushed me out the door. Tears streaming down my face, I clawed at the doorframe, refusing to let go. Sarah sighed, kneeling down to stroke my hair. “Just go to school for a few days. Getting an education isn’t a bad thing.” “Once your dad and I are done with the paperwork, we’ll take you to the hospital. If you really are cured, we’ll figure something else out, okay?” Her eyes suddenly looked so gentle, just like they used to. I instinctively reached out my pinky finger to lock promises with her. But the next second, Leo called out to her, and she immediately shoved me aside. “The milk on the table is getting cold, sweetie! Let Mom warm it up for you!” Robert took the opportunity to grab my wrists, dragging me out to the car like a criminal. The moment I walked into the classroom with Toby, I felt the hostile, mocking stares of everyone around us. Sure enough, the second the teacher stepped out, a group of boys sneered and crowded around my desk. “Hey, are you the retard’s child bride? Do you guys sleep in the same bed at night?” “Does the retard even know how to do it? Want us to teach you?” The entire classroom erupted into loud laughter. I swallowed my disgust, keeping my eyes glued to my desk, my voice trembling. “I’m not. Stop lying.” The ringleader mocked my voice in a high-pitched squeal, then turned to slap Toby on the back of his head. “Hey, Toby! Tell us, is she your girl?” Toby nodded droolingly, a dumb grin on his face. “Daddy said she’s mine. I get to kiss her.” The laughter grew deafening. I covered my ears and buried my head in my arms. *Just endure it,* I told myself. *Just a little longer.* I played dead until the final bell rang, and I was the very first one to bolt out of the school. Sarah was waiting at the school gate to pick up Leo. I threw my arms around her. “Mom, the kids in my class are going to hurt me. I’m scared. Please take me home with you!” Her voice was ice-cold. “Picking you up is your father’s job. My scooter can’t fit three people anyway.” “Besides, bullies don’t pick on kids for no reason. If they don’t like you, maybe you should look at your own behavior.” Leo started whining for ice cream again. Sarah didn’t listen to another word. She started the scooter and zoomed away, leaving me in the dust. Before I could even take a step, several hands grabbed me from behind, dragging me into a blind alley with no security cameras. I screamed “Mom! Mom!” over and over, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. One of the boys locked his arm around Toby’s neck, pushing him within inches of my face, while others pulled out their phones to record. “Here comes the retard’s wife! Let’s watch them make out!” Hands began pushing the back of my head, trying to force my face against his. I fought back with everything I had. “If you do this, I’ll tell the principal! I’ll call the cops!” The leader laughed even louder, squeezing Toby’s shoulder. “Are we bullying you? Aren’t we all just good friends playing a game?” Hearing the word “friends,” Toby grinned widely. “Yeah! Friends! Playing games!” They shoved Toby forward. Like an animal, he started licking my face wildly, his sticky spit smeared all over my cheeks. The smell and texture made me gag instantly. The crowd grew wild with excitement, shouting at Toby to rip my clothes off. Toby didn’t understand what he was doing; he just knew that doing this made everyone laugh. He pulled at my clothes with brute force. Within minutes, I was stripped down to my underwear, with dirty hands touching me everywhere. When you’re in absolute despair, your body just shivers. You can’t even make a sound. Just when I thought my life was completely over, a sharp scream echoed from the entrance of the alley. “What are you doing to Amber?! Stop right now!”

It was my homeroom teacher. She had overheard some students talking about the “prank” on her way out of school and had rushed over to stop it. It was only when she took me into the girls’ bathroom to check my bruises that I finally let out a loud, gut-wrenching sob. She patted my head gently. “I’m going to call your parents right now. Don’t worry, they will be severely punished.” She called Robert first. But before she could even explain, Robert snapped that he was busy working overtime and hung up. So she called Sarah. The moment she said, “Amber was assaulted at school,” Sarah replied in a completely uncaring tone: “Are her bones broken? She’s a special-needs kid; it’s normal for her to be isolated.” “It’s fine, teacher. Amber will forget everything by tomorrow anyway. She won’t cause any trouble for the school.” The teacher gasped, completely furious. “This is a young girl’s safety and dignity! How can you be so irresponsible as a mother?!” “If you don’t come down here right now, I am calling the police and having them bring you in!” Half an hour later, Sarah finally showed up at the office. The boys hadn’t had time to delete the video before the teacher snatched their phones. With undeniable proof, every single one of them was suspended. Mr. Miller, fearing legal trouble, immediately wanted to cut all ties with our family to protect his son. To protect me, the principal offered to transfer me to a different class. On the way home, I walked with a heavy limp behind Sarah. She suddenly stopped and turned around, looking extremely annoyed. “What are you crying for? The doctor said they’re just minor scratches.” “You got into a prestigious school, and you don’t have to marry Toby anymore. Isn’t this a blessing in disguise?” “Tomorrow, your dad and I will finish the divorce paperwork. I’ll move out with Leo, so you’d better start looking out for yourself.” My body was in agonizing pain, but my heart was breaking even more. I thought I was just switching parents. Why did it have to be this cruel? Did she really not love me at all anymore? I looked up, staring directly into her cold eyes. “Mom, is it because you think my illness makes me a burden? Is that why you don’t want me?” She pursed her lips, staying silent. I clenched my fists, a fire burning hot in my chest. “But I’m really, completely cured.” “In our last life, I was supposed to die in that rental apartment because of brain atrophy. But the moment I woke up here, I remembered everything.” “I know you came back from the future too. I recognize all your expressions, all your habits.” The coldness in Sarah’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly turned her face away. “You’re insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tears streamed down my face. “I know how hard it was for you in our past life, Mom. That’s why I was going to let you go.” “But I don’t want to live with Robert. What if he tries to sell me again?” “Mom, I love you so much. I just want to be with you. Didn’t you always say that as long as you had me, it was enough?” During our poorest days, we lived in a damp basement, sharing a single pack of instant noodles. She would put the noodles in my bowl, and I would feed her the first bite. She would hold me tight, laughing, “Amber is such a good girl. You are Mom’s favorite person in the world.” At the mention of our past, Sarah’s body shivered slightly. Her eyes welled up with tears, and her warm palm instinctively covered the back of my hand. Hope flared in my chest. I gripped her hand tightly. I was just about to warn her about how Leo’s gambling would eventually ruin Robert and drive our family to ruin. But in the next second, she violently shook my hand off, pushing me away with immense force. “Enough!”

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After my mother gave birth to my baby brother, she developed temporary amnesia. She remembered everyone in her life, except for me. She even hallucinated that I was a child-snatcher trying to steal her baby. Because of this, she slapped my face and kicked my stomach almost every single day. But sometimes, she would snap out of it. She would cup my bruised face with her trembling hands, weeping and begging for my forgiveness. I truly believed that one day, my sweet mom would get better and come back to me. Until one rainy night, I overheard a hushed conversation between my parents in their master bedroom. “How much longer are you going to keep up this act, Eleanor?” my dad’s voice whispered, sounding exhausted. “Chloe is covered in bruises. There isn’t a single patch of clear skin left on her back.” “Hmph. What else was I supposed to do? She’s just a daughter,” my mom replied, her voice cold, sharp, and completely sane. “If we don’t break her spirit now and train her to be Mason’s obedient servant, she’ll run wild when she grows up. We won’t be able to control her.” I clutched the DNA test results tightly against my chest. In that single, devastating moment, I realized all of my mother’s tearful apologies were nothing but a lie. But Mom… there is something you don’t know. Mason isn’t even your biological son. ***

The bruises on my back were calculated. The most hidden one was right below my left shoulder blade, left by a heavy plastic clothes hanger. That afternoon, my mother’s hand had flew high into the air, and then her palm crashed down on me. A burning pain radiated from my cheek to my ear. I bit my lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. But she didn’t stop. Wearing her soft house slippers, she kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled up on the cold hardwood floor, gasping for air like a fish dying on dry land. Her voice was shrill and screeching, a horrific contrast to the gentle mother I once knew. “Thief! You’re trying to steal my baby!” I looked up through my tears and saw the raw, unadulterated hatred in her eyes. But in the very next second, her gaze went blank. Her brows furrowed deeply, as if she were desperately trying to pull herself out of a thick fog. She reached out with trembling fingers, gently touching my swollen cheek as tears cascaded down her face. “Oh my god… I’m so sorry, Chloe. Mom is so, so sorry.” She pulled me into her arms. It was an embrace that was both warm and suffocating. As her fingers brushed against the fresh welts on my back, I flinched from the pain. Instead of letting go, she held me even tighter, as if she wanted to merge me into her own body—or perhaps, erase me from this world entirely. Back then, I always told myself: *Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Mom will get completely better.* I held onto that hope until the day I found out she had never been sick at all. Once upon a time, my mother was the gentlest soul in the world. When I was six years old, I came down with a horrific fever in the dead of winter. My dad was away on a business trip. My mom stayed up all night, never closing her eyes once, gently wiping my burning body with warm, damp towels over and over again. At three in the morning, half-conscious from the fever, I heard her calling a doctor friend from the living room. Her voice was trembling with tears. “Dr. Carter, please help. My daughter’s fever has reached 104. What do I do? What should I do?” She checked my temperature every fifteen minutes, writing it down carefully in a little notebook. Her handwriting was messy from panic, but I could still recognize it. Eventually, when the fever wouldn’t break, she bundled me up in a heavy blanket like a little burrito and carried me down the stairs. We lived on the sixth floor of an old walk-up apartment building with no elevator. She walked down those steps, one by one, her heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet stairwell. The sidewalk outside was covered in patches of black ice. She slipped and fell hard, but she used her elbows to shield me from hitting the frozen ground. I heard her groan in pain, but she immediately turned her head to check on me. “Chloe, sweetie, are you okay? Did Mommy scare you?” Dozing off, I mumbled back, trying to comfort her. “I’m okay, Mom.” We didn’t have much money back then, and I hated the thought of going to the hospital just for a fever. When we finally got to the ER, the doctor scolded her for not bringing me in sooner. She just looked at him with red, bloodshot eyes and said, “I thought I could break the fever at home. I didn’t want to drag her out in the freezing cold middle of the night if I didn’t have to.” When the nurse pricked my hand for the IV, I started crying and screaming. My mom held me tight against her chest, softly singing my favorite lullaby. As the medicine dripped into my veins, I fell asleep. In my hazy dreams, I could feel a warm hand gently stroking my hair. When I opened my eyes, I saw her slumped over the edge of my hospital bed, fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. Yet, even in her sleep, her hand kept patting my back gently, over and over again. The morning sun filtered through the gaps in the hospital blinds, casting a warm, golden glow over her tired face. During those peaceful years, she was the one who taught me how to read and write. We shared a single desk lamp. Her warm, soft hand would cover my small one, guiding my pencil across the paper to write the letters of the word “LOVE” in my spelling notebook. Whenever I made a mistake, she never yelled. She would just gently erase it and say, “Let’s try again, sweetie.” She always told me, “Chloe, you are Mommy’s greatest treasure.” And whenever she said those words, her eyes would crinkle into beautiful, crescent moons. For my seventh birthday, she baked me a strawberry cake from scratch. My dad had to work late at the office and couldn’t make it home. Seeing the disappointment on my face, she magically whipped out two movie tickets from behind her back. “Well, then it’s a girls’ night out! A date with Mom!” We watched the latest animated movie. She bought me a giant tub of popcorn but didn’t eat a single piece herself, choosing instead to just watch me smile. When the movie ended, it was drizzling outside. She took off her denim jacket, draped it over my head to keep me dry, and ran into the rain to hail a cab. Inside the taxi, water was dripping from her hair, but her first instinct was to use her dry sleeve to wipe the raindrops off my face. I kept these memories locked deep within my heart. They were real. I was sure of it. And that was exactly why her betrayal, when it came, was so incredibly cruel. ***

My baby brother, Mason, arrived in the spring. During the late stages of her pregnancy, my mom would often take my hand and place it gently on her swollen belly. “Chloe, feel that? Your little brother is kicking you.” Her smile was full of pure, maternal bliss. I, too, waited for his arrival with excitement. I even saved up my pocket money to buy a tiny plush bear as a welcoming gift for him. The day Mason was born, I waited in the hospital corridor for twelve long hours. Finally, my dad walked out of the delivery room and smiled at me. “It’s a boy, Chloe. He’s healthy. Your mom is doing great.” I stood on my tiptoes, trying to peek through the door. A friendly nurse laughed and led me inside. My mom was lying on the bed, pale but smiling. Right next to her was a tiny bundle, revealing a soft, pink little face. “Come here, Chloe. Look at your brother,” she whispered softly. I walked over on my tiptoes, terrified of disturbing this fragile new life. At that moment, I loved him with all my heart. The first few weeks were completely normal. During her postpartum recovery, my mom would smile and let me hold Mason, even if it was just for a few minutes at a time. She taught me how to cradle his head and rock him gently. My arms would go stiff from nervousness, but my heart was overflowing with love. But gradually, a subtle shift began to happen in our home. My mom’s eyes started drifting. Whenever she spoke to me, she would suddenly stop mid-sentence, as if she had forgotten what she was saying. At first, we all assumed it was just postpartum exhaustion. I thought so, too. The first time I realized something was seriously wrong was when Mason was two months old. I came home from school, and before I could even put down my backpack, I ran over to his crib. Mason was awake, staring up at the ceiling with his round, dark eyes. I reached out my hand, wanting to gently touch his tiny fingers. Suddenly, my mom rushed out of the kitchen like a maniac, screaming at the top of her lungs as she shoved me away. “Get away from him! Don’t touch my baby!” I lost my balance and crashed onto the floor, my elbow slamming hard against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A sharp, blinding pain shot up my arm. I stared at her in utter shock. Her expression was entirely foreign—guarded, hostile, like a wild lioness protecting her cub. She stood rigidly between me and the crib, her eyes locked onto me. A few seconds later, she seemed to snap out of it. Seeing me crying on the floor, panic flashed across her face. “Chloe? Oh my god, what did I do? I… I just…” She rushed over to pull me up, checking my elbow, which was already bruising. Her voice trembled. “Does it hurt? Sweetie, Mom didn’t mean to. I don’t know what came over me.” I brushed the dust off my skirt, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re just really tired.” My elbow throbbed painfully, but the confusion blooming in my chest hurt so much more. At that time, I genuinely believed she was just exhausted. I even blamed myself. *I shouldn’t have tried to touch the baby without washing my hands first. Newborns have weak immune systems. Mom was just trying to protect him.* I had no idea that this was only the beginning of a never-ending nightmare. Things quickly deteriorated. My mom started “forgetting” who I was more and more frequently. Sometimes, while she was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, she would suddenly spin around and glare at me with cold, hostile eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” At first, I thought she was playing a cruel joke. I laughed nervously. “Mom, stop it. It’s me, Chloe.” But the sheer emptiness and suspicion in her eyes were so terrifyingly real that the laugh died in my throat. “Chloe?” She repeated the name, her brow furrowed as if searching her mind. “Do I have a daughter? How old is she?” “I’m twelve, Mom,” I said, my heart starting to race with panic. *Was she going to hit me again?* My dad would usually walk out of his home office at that point, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Eleanor, honey, this is Chloe. Our daughter. Remember?” His voice was always incredibly calm, and it quickly pacified her. My mom would look at my dad, then at me, and then nod slowly. “Chloe… right. Yes, I remember now.” But as time went on, the most terrifying development was that she began to permanently cast me as her imaginary enemy. Once, when Aunt Clara came over to visit, my mom pointed a trembling finger at me. “She’s trying to steal my baby! I know she is!” Clara laughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. “Eleanor, what are you talking about? That’s Chloe. Your own daughter.” My mom stared at me for what felt like an eternity before letting out a slow, hesitant nod. But she pulled Mason tighter against her chest, turning her body away from me in a fiercely protective stance. The moment Clara left, my mom burst into tears. She threw her arms around me, weeping hysterically. “Chloe, did Mommy lose her mind again? What did I say? Did I hurt you, baby?” Her hot tears dripped onto my shoulder, scalding my skin. “No, Mom. It’s okay. You’re just tired.” ***

I patted her back gently. I believed her. I had to believe her. A mother’s love couldn’t be faked. She was just sick. My dad took her to see three different specialists, and they all gave a similar diagnosis: postpartum stress bringing on brief episodes of amnesia, possibly accompanied by mild paranoia. Every doctor offered the same comforting words: “She will recover. It just takes time and patience.” But my dad’s “patience” quickly turned into silent permission. The first time my mother actually laid a hand on me, my dad just stood in the doorway. His lips twitched slightly, but in the end, he didn’t say a single word. That afternoon, Mason wouldn’t stop crying. No matter how much my mom rocked him, he kept screaming. I finished my homework and walked out of my room, offering quietly, “Mom, do you want me to try holding him?” She whipped her head around, her eyes turning predatory. “What are you trying to do to him?” She clutched Mason tightly and took a step back, staring at me as if I were a monster. I tried to explain. “I just want to help.” “Help? Or do you want to make him cry more so you can show everyone what a terrible mother I am?!” Her voice rose to a screeching register. “You’ve always been jealous of him! I know your secret!” “I’m not, Mom—” “Shut up!” She lunged forward, her hand flying across my face. *SLAP!* It was a heavy, deafening blow. The sharp sound echoed through the living room, freezing both of us in place. My cheek burned with a blinding, throbbing pain, but my mind was completely numb with shock. My mom’s hand remained suspended in the air, trembling violently. My dad slowly lowered his newspaper, glanced at us, and murmured, “Eleanor, calm down.” “She wants to hurt Mason! Who is she?!” My mom’s voice cracked, her eyes losing focus once again. “Chloe, go back to your room,” my dad sighed, his voice dripping with exhaustion. I cupped my throbbing cheek and ran back to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I slid down against the wood, burying my face in my knees. My cheek didn’t hurt nearly as much as the hollow ache opening up in my chest. Outside my door, I could hear my mother sobbing hysterically while my dad murmured soft, comforting words to her. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door. “Chloe, sweetie, open the door.” It was my mom. Her voice had returned to its usual, gentle warmth. I unlocked the door. Her eyes were red and swollen. When she reached out to touch my face, I flinched, instinctively pulling away. Her hand froze in mid-air, and another wave of tears spilled over. “I’m so sorry, baby. Mommy lost control again. Does it hurt?” Seeing her cry broke my heart. My anger melted away. “It doesn’t hurt, Mom.” She pulled me into her arms, and this time, I didn’t pull away. Her embrace was exactly as I remembered—warm, smelling faintly of lavender laundry detergent. “Mommy will get better. The doctors said so. I promise,” she whispered in my ear, though I couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself. But from that day on, the abuse only escalated. It went from shoving to slapping, from hard pinches on my arms to kicks to my shins and stomach. And every single incident followed the exact same, twisted pattern: First, she would have an “episode” and attack me. Next, she would “snap out of it,” crying and begging for my forgiveness. Finally, she would wrap me in a warm hug, promising it would never happen again. I trapped myself in this cycle of hope and abuse. Because when she was “sane,” she was the perfect, loving mother I adored. Occasionally, my dad would pat my head, his eyes filled with a complicated look. “Your mother is sick, Chloe. You need to be understanding.” I would just nod, hiding my fresh bruises under long-sleeved shirts, and quietly help her with the chores. When summer arrived, wearing long sleeves in ninety-degree weather started looking suspicious. Once, during gym class while we were changing, a classmate noticed the dark purple marks on my arm. She gasped, “Chloe, what happened to your arm?” Terrified, I quickly pulled my t-shirt over my head and forced a laugh. “Oh, I’m just clumsy. I fell down the stairs.” But some marks were impossible to hide. The swelling from her slaps would eventually go down, but they left faint, reddish marks on my skin. One afternoon, my school counselor, Mrs. Gable, called me into her office. She gently asked if everything was alright at home. I told her my mom was sick and sometimes had trouble regulating her emotions. Mrs. Gable looked at me with deep concern. “Do you need me to contact Child Protective Services, Chloe?” I shook my head frantically. “No! Please don’t!” I couldn’t let strangers get involved. It would destroy my mom, and it would embarrass my dad. We were a family, and families solve their own problems. The worst beating happened right before my finals in eighth grade. I was studying late in my room when I got thirsty and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I passed my parents’ bedroom, Mason suddenly started crying. My mom burst out of the room, and seeing me standing in the hallway with a glass of water, she instantly flew into a rage. ***

“What did you put in his bottle?!” She snatched the glass from my hand, sniffed it, and slammed it onto the floor. Shards of glass shattered everywhere, slicing my ankles. “I was just getting water for myself!” “Liar! You want to poison my son! I know you hate him!” She grabbed me by my hair, dragging me out into the living room. A white-hot, ripping pain shot through my scalp, and I screamed. My dad rushed out of the bedroom. “Eleanor! Let go of her!” But she didn’t hear him. She raised her foot and kicked me violently in the stomach. I curled into a ball on the floor, the agonizing pain knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Finally, my dad stepped in, grabbing her arms to pull her off me. “She’s a demon! She wants to murder my baby!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face. With great effort, my dad dragged her back into the master bedroom and locked the door. I lay on the cold floor, my stomach cramping violently, the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth. The harsh ceiling light overhead was blinding. I closed my eyes, letting the tears slide silently down my face. I don’t know how much time passed before the bedroom door finally opened. My mom walked out, her steps shaky and uneven. She fell to her knees beside me, her trembling hands hovering over my bruised face. “Chloe… my sweet Chloe… Oh my god, what did I do to you?” Seeing the blood on my lip, she broke down, sobbing hysterically as she pulled me into her chest. “I’m a monster! I’m so sorry! Hit me back, please, just hit me back!” I shook my head, too weak to speak. That night, she insisted on applying ointment to my wounds. When she pulled up my shirt and saw the massive, dark purple bruises covering my stomach, she gasped, her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold the tube. I found myself comforting her instead. “It’s okay, Mom. It’ll heal. You’re just sick.” She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a bizarre mixture of guilt, pain, and something else—something cold and calculating that I didn’t understand at the time. “Yes,” she whispered softly. “Mommy will get better.” But the illusion shattered completely on a stormy night a few weeks later. I woke up in the middle of the night from a sharp, throbbing pain in my stomach. My mother had kicked me hard earlier that afternoon. I got out of bed to find some Advil in the kitchen. As I passed my parents’ bedroom, I heard hushed voices coming from inside. The door was cracked open, letting out a sliver of yellow light. Instinctively, I stopped in my tracks. “How much longer are you going to keep doing this, Eleanor?” my dad’s voice asked, sounding incredibly weary. “Chloe is covered in bruises. Her school counselor called me again yesterday. I barely managed to lie my way out of it.” My heart squeezed. I leaned against the drywall, holding my breath. “Hmph. If we don’t break her spirit now and train her to be Mason’s obedient servant, she’ll run wild when she grows up. We won’t be able to control her,” my mom’s voice replied. It was completely steady, cool, and logical. She sounded like she was discussing a household budget, not the systematic abuse of her own daughter. “But she’s only fourteen, Eleanor. Look at the marks on her back,” my dad muttered, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Skin heals! Breaking her spirit is what matters!” my mom snapped, her tone turning sharp. “Are you turning soft now, David? Think about why we did this in the first place! Think about Mason’s future! He is going to need someone who will dedicate her life to taking care of him. If Chloe suffers a little bit now, she’ll know her place. Or do you want her to grow up like one of those spoiled, selfish only-children who would never lift a finger to help her brother?” “That’s not what I meant. We raised Chloe from a baby…” “Then what do you mean? The doctors said postpartum amnesia rarely lasts more than a year. Do you know how exhausting it is for me to pretend to be crazy every single day? If it weren’t to completely crush her defiance, do you think I’d be putting on this ridiculous show?” *A show.* The word felt like a poisoned dagger plunging straight into my chest. “The school is getting suspicious,” my dad sighed. “The counselor is going to call CPS eventually.” “Let them. Once she’s completely broken, she’ll realize that fighting back is useless. Even if I ‘recover’ from my illness, it won’t matter. In fact, she’ll probably be grateful that I’m nice to her again. Abuse breeds loyalty.” My entire world collapsed right then and there. I clutched the wall, my knees shaking so violently I could barely stand. I dragged myself back to my room on silent feet, locked the door, and buried my face in my pillow, weeping silently until my throat was raw. That night, for the first time in my life, I wanted to die. If living meant being tortured and manipulated by the people who were supposed to love me most, what was the point? But I didn’t end it. The next morning, my mother had another “episode.” During breakfast, she suddenly swiped her hand across the table, knocking my glass of milk onto the floor. It shattered into a million pieces. “You’re trying to poison my baby!” she shrieked, pointing at the spilled white liquid. I sat there, staring at her coldly. I didn’t try to explain. I didn’t cry. I just watched her perform. My dad stepped in right on cue. “Chloe, clean this up quickly. Your mother didn’t mean it.” “Oh, I absolutely meant it!” My mom stood up, towering over me. “I’m telling you, stay away from my son!” She raised her hand. This time, I didn’t flinch or look away. As her hand slapped my cheek, I stared directly into her eyes. And there, deep within her pupils, I caught a fleeting glimpse of satisfaction. It was true. A mother’s love could be entirely fabricated. “What are you looking at?!” She slapped me again, harder this time. “Eleanor, that’s enough,” my dad said, pulling her back. “Chloe needs to get to school.” My mom scoffed and turned her back on me. I silently grabbed my backpack and walked out of the house. I didn’t say a word to my classmates or my counselor. On my way back from school, I stopped by a local grocery store. I used some spare change my dad had left on the counter to buy a bag of frozen peas to soothe my swollen cheek. When I got home, Mason was sitting on the living room rug. The front door was open, and he babbled happily when he saw me, reaching his chubby little hands toward the frozen bag. He was starting to say a few words now. His eyes were so innocent, so pure. I looked around the empty apartment, and my heart softened. Mason was innocent. He was just a baby. I handed him the colorful bag, but his tiny hands couldn’t grip it. It rolled under the heavy bookshelf. He pointed his little finger. “Sissy, look! Ball!” I gave him a soft, gentle smile. As I bent down to retrieve the bag of peas, I noticed my dad’s desk drawer was slightly ajar. Peeking out from inside was a photo frame that didn’t belong to our family. I pulled it out. It was a family photo of my dad, my grandparents, and another woman—a beautiful, young woman I had never seen before. A chilling thought flashed through my mind. I looked at Mason, then back at the photo. Mason didn’t look like me. He didn’t look like my mother, either. He looked exactly like my dad. Furthermore, everyone in my family had thick, curly brown hair. Mason’s hair was pin-straight and jet-black. I remembered when Mason was born and had to stay in the incubator for a few days. My mother had been asleep, and I had wandered over to the nurse’s station to ask a question. I had caught a glimpse of Mason’s medical chart. His blood type was O. I was young, but I knew basic biology. My parents were both AB. It was genetically impossible for them to have an O-type baby. I held up the photo of the strange woman. Mason’s eyes lit up instantly. He pointed his tiny finger at her face and babbled, “Mama!” A loud alarm bell went off in my head. Terrified by the dark truth looming before me, I grabbed my things and ran out of the house.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “441095”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born with a curse: a ten-fold pain-empathy link with my twin sister, Roxy. Any injury she got, the pain would hit my body ten times worse. Growing up, Roxy became a notorious rebel in our neighborhood. Getting into street fights and skipping school was just a Tuesday for her. She didn’t care. She knew that she wouldn’t feel a thing. I was the one who would scream in agony, not her. Our parents completely ignored this. Instead, they blamed me for being “too weak,” saying my constant whining held Roxy back from reaching her full potential. To force me to give up my Ivy League early admission spot to her, Roxy took a utility knife and slowly sliced her own arm right in front of me. As I collapsed onto the floor, twitching and foaming at the mouth from the unbearable agony, my family just stood there, watching coldly. My dad even flicked his cigarette and said, “Stop faking it. Sign the waiver already.” Later, Roxy decided to stage an accident with a speeding luxury car to extort some quick cash. When the massive impact hit her, my heart instantly stopped. But the moment I drew my last breath, my sister—the girl who was incapable of feeling pain—suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream.

Roxy was the older twin. I was Hope, the younger one. Since the day we were born, God had played a sick joke on us. Any physical harm Roxy endured would register in my nervous system with ten times the intensity. And she felt absolutely nothing. She had congenital insensitivity to pain. Right now, I was curled up on the hardwood floor like a dying shrimp, my entire body convulsing violently. The pain was so intense that my throat could only produce a dry, rattling gasp. Through my blurry vision, I saw Roxy sitting on the sofa, casually spinning a shiny utility knife between her fingers. She had that bored, mocking smile on her face. Then, she pressed the blade against her pale forearm and dragged it down. *Screeech.* The sound of flesh tearing open. “Ahhh!” The scream didn’t come from her. It came from me. In that instant, it felt like a power drill was boring straight into my bone marrow. My very soul was being shredded. I foamed at the mouth, my limbs flailing uncontrollably as my fingernails clawed at the floor, leaving bloody streaks. “Hope, that’s enough. Get up,” my dad, Harold, said from his armchair. He looked annoyed as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. A speck of glowing, hot ash fell right onto the back of my hand. *Sizzle.* Another red burn mark. My eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets from the shock. I stared at him, desperately trying to beg for help. *Dad, please. Save me.* But no words came out. Only tears and drool smeared across my face. My mom, Linda, was peeling an apple for Roxy. She didn’t even look at me. “Roxy, honey, why do you have to hurt yourself over this?” Linda sighed. Roxy pouted like a spoiled brat. “It’s Hope’s fault! She won’t sign over her Ivy League admission spot to me! Mom, I don’t want to take the SATs. It’s too hard.” “Since she’s the younger sister, isn’t it her job to help me out? She should carry my academic stress.” As she spoke, a flash of pure malice crossed Roxy’s eyes. She pressed the knife deeper. This time, the cut went straight to the bone. “Arghhh—!!!” My heart seized. It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it until it popped. The pain went far beyond what a human body could tolerate. My spine arched rigidly, and then I crashed heavily back onto the floor. My vision went pitch black, and the voices in the room started sounding distant, like they were underwater. Linda walked over and kicked my head with the toe of her slipper. “Cut the drama, Hope. You’ve been pulling this stunt since we were kids. Aren’t you tired of it?” “Look at you, acting like a corpse. You don’t have a single drop of your sister’s courage.” “Roxy is bleeding so much and she hasn’t made a sound. You don’t even have a scratch on you, yet you’re squealing like a pig.” Right. Ever since we were kids, because I was always the one crying in pain, they saw me as a dramatic, attention-seeking loser. Meanwhile, Roxy, who couldn’t feel pain, got into gang fights and caused trouble, but they praised her for being “tough” and “a fighter.” They forgot that I was the one paying the price for her “toughness.” Harold blew out a cloud of smoke, his cold face hidden behind the gray haze. “Stop playing dead. Sign the paper.” “Once you sign it, we’ll take your sister to get stitches, and your ‘pain’ will stop.” I tried to raise my hand to tell them that I couldn’t breathe. My heart was beating in a wild, chaotic rhythm, like a machine breaking down. Then came the final, massive surge of neural shock. *Snap.* It felt like a wire snapped in my brain. My eyes stared blankly at the ceiling fan, my pupils dilating. My body remained twisted on the floor, completely still. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, Roxy walked over impatiently. She smeared some of the blood from her arm onto my cheek and shoved the pen into my stiff hand. “Hey, wake up. Sign it so I can go to the ER, and you can stop crying.” The pen slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor. My arm fell limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. I was completely gone. My soul floated up to the ceiling, watching this absurd scene unfold. I was dead. I died in the heat of a summer evening at eighteen, while my own family watched with cold indifference.

Seeing that I wouldn’t hold the pen, Roxy kicked me in the ribs out of frustration. “Mom! Look at Hope! She’s still throwing a tantrum!” Linda walked over and looked down at me. My wide-open, lifeless eyes were staring right back at her. She frowned. There was no panic on her face—only disgust. “This girl has such a nasty temper. She really thinks she can blackmail us by pretending to pass out?” “Ignore her. Starve her for a couple of meals, and she’ll crawl back.” Harold was even more direct. He grabbed me by my shirt and dragged me onto my bed. Then, he picked up the pen from the floor and forged my signature on the Ivy League waiver. “There. The spot is yours now,” Harold said, handing the paper to Roxy. “Was this tiny thing really worth cutting yourself so many times?” Looking at the signed document, Roxy jumped up and down in excitement. She didn’t care about the blood dripping down her arm. “Thank you, Dad! I knew you loved me best!” She grabbed a random band-aid from the counter and slapped it over the deep gash. The blood quickly soaked through the adhesive, but she didn’t care. It didn’t hurt anyway. “To celebrate our Roxy getting into the Ivy League, let’s order a feast!” Linda declared, immediately ordering the most expensive seafood delivery on her phone. Half an hour later. The food arrived. The dining table was piled high with King crab legs, lobsters, and oysters. The table was in the living room. Less than ten feet away from my dead body. I floated above them, watching them stuff their faces. The heavy, fishy smell of the seafood filled the air, slowly mixing with the faint, sweet scent of decay starting to rise from my corpse. Roxy ate greedily, her lips slick with butter. She cracked open a lobster claw and casually tossed the sharp shell backward. *Clack.* The shell landed right on my face, catching on my eyelashes. It was a sick, ironic sight. “Hey, Hope, stop faking.” “Get up and clean this trash. Don’t think you can skip your chores just by lying there.” I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Linda peeled a piece of crab meat and fed it to Roxy. “Don’t worry about that useless girl. Just looking at her ruins my appetite.” “Our Roxy is the one with real guts. She knows how to be ruthless to get what she wants.” “Once you go to college, you’re going to do great things.” Harold drank his beer, his face flushing red from the alcohol. He pointed a finger toward my bed. “We spoiled her too much. ‘Pain empathy’? It’s probably just a mental illness. She just wanted attention.” “Look at Roxy. She bleeds and doesn’t cry. That’s what a leader looks like.” They kept eating, laughing, and planning Roxy’s bright future. Not once did anyone walk over to check if I was breathing. If they had just bent down, they might have realized I could still have been saved. But they didn’t. They truly believed I was just playing a game, silent-treating them. After finishing her meal, Roxy let out a loud burp. She looked toward my bed and suddenly found it annoying. “Mom, the way she’s lying there is creepy. Her eyes are wide open. It’s bad luck.” Linda stood up. She went to the kitchen drawer, pulled out an old, stained tablecloth, and walked over. Like throwing a tarp over a pile of garbage, she threw it over my head. “Out of sight, out of mind.” “She sleeps on the floor tonight. Nobody give her a blanket. Let’s see how long she can keep up this act.” A dirty tablecloth. It covered my unblinking, dead eyes. And it covered the last shred of humanity in this house. My soul shivered in the air. Not from the cold, but from the absolute, freezing realization of how little I meant to them.

The night went on. The AC in the living room was set to a freezing sixty degrees. This sped up my rigor mortis. Before going to her room, Roxy walked past me. On a petty whim, she stomped heavily on my stomach through the tablecloth. “Clean the floor tomorrow. It’s covered in my blood. It’s disgusting.” It was a heavy stomp. But I felt nothing. Instead, my stiffened, cold body bruised her foot. She muttered, “Stiff as a rock. You and your garbage attitude.” The next morning. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, illuminating the shape under the tablecloth. Roxy woke up feeling refreshed. When she walked out, she saw I was still in the exact same spot. She marched over and snatched the tablecloth away. My face had already turned a ghastly shades of blue and purple. The dried white foam on my lips had turned crusty. Roxy froze for a second, then burst into a mocking laugh. “Wow, Hope. You really went all out to scare me.” “Who did you do this zombie makeup for? You should have gone to film school instead.” She actually thought it was makeup. She kicked my stiff arm with her sneaker. “Alright, cut it out. I’m going to school. Make sure you wash my sneakers today.” She threw the tablecloth back over my face and hummed a tune as she walked out the door. I floated out right behind her. At school, Roxy was on top of the world. She showed off the forged Ivy League admission letter to everyone in her class. “Well, some people can study all they want, but the spot still belongs to me in the end,” she bragged. A few girls who always disliked her rolled their eyes. “Stealing your own sister’s spot. You’re disgusting, Roxy.” Roxy’s face twisted in rage. She lunged forward and slapped the girl hard across the face. *Smack!* It was loud and clear. The girl was stunned for a second, but then she lost it. She grabbed Roxy’s arm, digging her long acrylic nails deep into Roxy’s flesh. If this were yesterday, I would be rolling on the floor in a corner of the school, screaming in agony. Because all that pain would have hit me. But today, I was dead. Roxy looked down at the nails sinking into her arm, and a bizarre, twisted thrill washed over her face. She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Is that all you got?” Roxy laughed mockingly. She grabbed the girl by her hair and slammed her head against the desk. The sheer brutality of her attack terrified everyone in the room. Because she feared no pain, she had no limits. “I am invincible!” Roxy laughed like a psychopath as she beat the girl bloody. The principal was called, and so were the parents. Linda rushed to the school. But instead of apologizing, she screamed at the victim’s family in the office. “Your daughter started it! My girl was just defending herself!” “My daughter is gifted! She’s physically resilient, unlike your fragile little brat who cries over a scratch!” The principal pointed at the security footage. “Mrs. Miller, your daughter was incredibly violent…” “That’s because she’s brave! She’s tough!” Linda said proudly. “Unlike her useless sister, who is a spineless coward.” Mentioning me made Linda remember that she needed me to sign some paperwork at the school to finalize the admission transfer. She pulled out her phone and called me. *Ring… Ring… Ring…* The phone rang, but it was just vibrating on the coffee table back in our living room. Nobody answered. “That little bitch. Still throwing a tantrum,” Linda muttered, hanging up. “Just wait until I get home. I’ll teach her a lesson.” Watching this from the ceiling, I found it hilarious. While they were defending a monster, they didn’t miss a single chance to insult their dead child. They even mistook the silence of a corpse for rebellion.

That evening, Roxy and Linda returned home. I followed them inside. My body was still lying in the corner of the living room, covered by the dirty tablecloth. It had been over twenty-four hours now. A faint, sickly odor was starting to creep through the apartment. But Linda had cooked a greasy, heavily-spiced garlic pasta for dinner, and the strong aroma masked the smell of my decay. Roxy took a screenshot of a new designer bag and sent it to the family group chat. “Dad, Mom, I want this bag as a reward for getting into the Ivy League.” Harold looked at the price tag. Three thousand dollars. He frowned. “We just paid the ‘donation’ fee for your admission. Things are a bit tight right now.” Roxy immediately threw a tantrum, kicking the chair. “I don’t care! I want it! All the other Ivy League kids have nice things!” Linda tried to soothe her. “Sweetie, can we buy it next month?” Roxy’s eyes darted around, and a sinister idea popped into her head. “Mom, Dad, you know how those rich kids drive like maniacs in the wealthy suburbs near the hills?” “Since I don’t feel pain anyway, what if I stage an accident?” She grinned excitedly. “I just need to find a street with no cameras, wait for a sports car, and let it clip me.” “Those rich snobs are terrified of lawsuits. They’ll offer a quick cash settlement to keep it quiet. We could get tens of thousands of dollars easily!” My soul shuddered. Was this a family, or a pack of demons? She talked about committing insurance fraud as casually as ordering takeout. But what was worse was my parents’ reaction. Harold took a drag from his cigarette and actually nodded. “It’s risky, but doable. Just make sure you pick the right spot so you don’t end up paralyzed.” Linda looked slightly worried. “What if you get a nasty scar? You’re a girl, you shouldn’t have scars on your skin.” Roxy cast a disdainful glance at the shape under the tablecloth in the corner. “Why should I worry?” “If my skin gets ruined, we’ll just have the doctors graft some of Hope’s skin onto me.” “She’s a useless loser anyway. Her skin is perfectly fine. It would be a waste not to use it.” “And if my kidney gets damaged, we’ll just take one of hers.” “I’m the older sister. Why shouldn’t she sacrifice a little for me?” Harold nodded, exhaling a thick ring of smoke. “True. We’ve fed and housed her for eighteen years. It’s about time she made herself useful.” Linda smiled, relieved. “Alright, then it’s settled. Just protect your face.” They sat around the table, happily discussing the details of the insurance scam. They completely forgot that their “living organ bank” was already a decomposing corpse. After dinner, Roxy was in great spirits. She walked over to the corner and kicked my body hard. “Hey, did you hear that?” “Be ready to go to the hospital and give me your skin when the time comes.” “Stop playing dead, you hear me?” Of course, there was no reply. Only a dull, heavy thud as her foot hit my stiffening leg. Roxy sneered. “Fucking pig. She sleeps like she’s dead.” She turned around and walked out the door to carry out her grand plan. Watching her leave, my soul felt a surge of anticipation. Roxy chose a quiet intersection in the wealthy part of town. There were no traffic cameras, and it was a popular spot for rich college kids to drag race their sports cars. She hid behind the bushes, waiting like a predator. I floated in the air above her, silently waiting for the show to start. Soon, the loud roar of an engine echoed in the distance. A bright red Ferrari came speeding down the road like a flash of lightning. A greedy spark lit up Roxy’s eyes. She took a deep breath, calculating the distance. She just needed a minor hit, a little roll on the asphalt, and a broken bone or two. The settlement money would fly into her pockets. After all, Hope would be the one feeling the agony. Hope would be the one suffering through the broken bones. She was used to it. For eighteen years, she had abused this link. From getting vaccines to breaking bones, she had never shed a single tear. Because every ounce of pain was instantly transferred to her weak, pathetic sister. The car was close! Roxy jumped out of the bushes straight into the lane! *SCREECH—!!!* The sound of burning rubber sliced through the night as the Ferrari slammed on its brakes, leaving long black skid marks. But the car was going too fast. It couldn’t stop in time. *BANG!* A horrific crash. Roxy was thrown into the air like a ragdoll, spinning twice before slamming hard onto the asphalt.

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My sister had the power of the Midas touch. With a single tap of her finger, she could turn rotting wood into solid gold. She started live-streaming, letting her viewers choose what to transform. Overnight, half of our house was turned into gold bricks. However, every time she performed her “miracle,” my personal gold investment portfolio shrank. When I realized something was wrong and confronted her, she accused me of being jealous. “Hazel, is it because I’m famous now and you’re green with envy? Should I toss you a gold coin or two as charity?” My father, wearing a thick gold chain she had “manifested,” slapped me across the face in a rage. “You just can’t stand to see this family succeed! Chloe is talented and loves this family. You claimed you saved up gold—where is it then?!” Clutching my swollen cheek, I made a silent vow to expose her lies. But as days went by, I found nothing. Meanwhile, my gold savings were completely drained. Until the day I was diagnosed with a tumor. That was the day Chloe started another live-stream. “Send me some gifts, guys! Today, I’m going to manifest fifty pounds of gold live on camera!”

After a grueling shift of overtime, I habitually opened my financial app to check my gold investment portfolio. My brows furrowed. The numbers were off. It was only short by a fraction of a gram—worth maybe twenty dollars—but for someone like me who calculated every penny and watched the market daily, this was no illusion. “Probably just a system delay or a market spread,” I muttered to myself. I didn’t dwell on it. The market had been wildly volatile lately, and such a minor glitch was negligible for a long-term holder. Before I could lock my screen, my dad’s call came through, frantic and loud. “Hazel! Get home right now! Something massive has happened!” “What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly tense. My dad’s ecstatic voice blasted through my AirPods. “Your sister is a goddess! She can turn things into gold!” I sighed, kicking off my flats at the door. “Dad, have you been brainwashed by those TikTok conspiracy videos again? Or is Chloe pulling another prank for her stream?” “You stubborn brat, why don’t you believe me?! Just get your butt home! Every minute you waste is costing us a fortune!” The line went dead. I shook my head in exasperation. My sister, Chloe, had been a headache since she was a kid. She wanted to be an influencer, then an actress, wasting tons of family money in the process. God knew what kind of stunt she was pulling this time. When I pushed the door open, my dad was jumping up and down in the living room, clutching his phone. “Look! Your sister is a miracle worker!” Dad practically shoved his screen into my face. “Chloe just tapped her finger, and five hundred dollars appeared out of thin air in my Venmo! Five hundred bucks!” I glanced at the screen. The notification did show a five-hundred-dollar deposit, but the transaction memo was just a string of encrypted, random characters. “Oh, you’re back, Hazel,” Chloe said, casting a dismissive glance at me. “Dad said you didn’t believe in my superpower.” “Then open your gold investment app,” Dad urged impatiently. Under his pressuring gaze, I unlocked my phone and tapped the gold-and-black icon of my brokerage app. “Watch closely,” Chloe said. She tapped the air lightly with her index finger. In the next second, my heart skipped a beat, and I nearly dropped my phone. On the screen, my gold balance—which was originally around 300 grams—started ticking upward rapidly without any purchase order from me. 350 grams. 400 grams. 500 grams! In the blink of an eye, my portfolio had doubled! My hands shook as I refreshed the page three times, even logging out and back in. The extra gold was still there, sitting securely in my account. It was worth nearly fifteen thousand dollars! “How… how is this possible?” I stared at Chloe, dumbfounded. “I told you it was real!” Dad slapped his thigh in excitement. “Chloe has the golden touch now! Everything she points at turns to money!” Chloe couldn’t hide the smug satisfaction in her eyes. “Believe me now, Hazel? This is called manifestation.” “You used to tell me that manifesting was just a lazy fantasy. What about now? I manifested actual wealth. Pretty impressive, right?”

The evidence was right in front of me. Looking at the very real transaction history, I had no choice but to believe it. I frowned, stepping closer to inspect my sister. “Does this power have any side effects? Chloe, do you feel sick or anything?” She pushed me away impatiently. “Oh, stop being such a buzzkill, Hazel. We’re about to be millionaires. Who cares about side effects?” Dad’s eyes gleamed with greed. He slapped his forehead, an idea striking him. “Chloe, your sister actually has a point. What if there’s a limit to this power? We need to maximize it! Let’s start a live stream. People on TikTok go crazy for this stuff.” Dad had already mapped out a grand blueprint in his head. “We don’t have to use the real power all the time; that would be too exhausting. We can buy some gold foil and metallic paint beforehand. Prepare some old wood and rocks. During the stream, use those props as cover, and only perform the real transformation at key moments. The visual impact will go viral!” Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Yes! And we can run a giveaway! We can randomly select a lucky viewer and ‘manifest’ gold directly into their investment accounts—just like I did for Hazel! Once people see real money hitting their accounts, they’ll shower me with expensive digital gifts!” The two of them got more and more excited, as if they could already see mountains of cash falling from the sky. Standing on the side, watching their feverish excitement, a deep sense of dread crept into my heart. The conservation of energy is a fundamental law of physics. How could something be created out of nothing without a price? I couldn’t help but speak up. “Dad, Chloe, this is too bizarre. What if this power is draining her life? We should take Chloe to the hospital for a checkup first, or at least keep this low-key. What if some government agency takes her away for research? And what if taxing this power ruins her health?” The smile on Dad’s face froze. Slowly, his expression turned into utter disgust. “What are you talking about?! Your sister has a gift, and instead of being happy for her, you’re cursing her?” Chloe gently pulled Dad’s sleeve, putting on a soft, victimized voice. “Dad, don’t blame Hazel. She’s just worried about me. Honestly, every time I use this power, I do feel completely drained, like my soul is being hollowed out.” Hearing this, I was about to warn her again, but her tone suddenly shifted. She looked up, looking incredibly noble and self-sacrificing. “But for our family to live a good life, for you to live in a mansion and wear a Rolex, what does a little sacrifice matter? As long as we can be rich, I don’t mind losing a few years of my life.” Tears welled up in Dad’s eyes. He glared at me fiercely, then grabbed Chloe’s hands. “Look at your sister! Now that is selflessness! That is true love! Chloe is talented and devoted, unlike you—useless and filled with jealousy!” “You claimed you saved up gold. Where is it? You’ve worked for years and you’re still a low-level corporate drone. Last time I asked you to cover a dinner bill with my friends, you said you couldn’t afford it and made me lose face! I haven’t even settled that score with you yet!” “Get out of my house, you jealous leech. You won’t get a single penny of our wealth!” I was shoved toward the door. The door slammed shut, then opened briefly just for my purse to be hurled out onto the hallway floor. Chloe looked down at me with a smirk. “Hazel, I know you’re jealous. The gold I manifested effortlessly is worth more than what you’ve earned working yourself to death for years.” “But that’s reality. Are you green with envy? Maybe I can toss you some spare change?” I took a deep breath. Instead of rushing to pick up my bag, I looked her dead in the eye and warned her. “I’m your sister, which is why I’m telling you this. You admitted this manifestation has side effects. Dad’s greed is a bottomless pit. Don’t ruin your own health just to pull cash out of thin air.” I quietly bent down to pick up my purse, but she kicked it, sending it tumbling down the stairs. “Oops. My bad, Hazel. My foot slipped. Guess you’ll have to walk down and get it.” “To tell you the truth,” Chloe said, casually inspecting her manicure with a mocking smile, “the side effects aren’t mine to bear. But you might want to start working harder to make more money, sis.” “What do you mean by that?” I lunged forward to stop her from closing the door. But she slammed it shut with brute force. The heavy security door clamped hard onto my hand, forcing me to pull back in pain.

Standing outside the locked door, I could hear Dad asking from inside what happened. “Nothing, Dad. Hazel was just trying to threaten me into giving her gold, but I refused.” Then came Dad’s loud curses through the door. I didn’t want to listen anymore. Over the next few days, I went to work as usual. The gold market was booming, the charts were entirely green, and everyone was celebrating the gold bull run. During a break, I habitually opened my gold investment app to see how much my portfolio had grown. But the moment I saw my balance, my blood ran cold. I was down fifty grams. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was hallucinating. The market was skyrocketing. Even if I had made some terrible mistake, the total value might fluctuate, but how could the physical weight of my holdings just vanish? I immediately opened the transaction history. My hands began to shake. The log showed that just ten minutes ago, a “sell” order had been executed. Fifty grams of gold had been liquidated, and the funds had been transferred to an unfamiliar intermediary account, disappearing without a trace. “This is impossible. I was in a meeting ten minutes ago! My phone was in my purse the whole time!” I immediately called customer support. “Hi, I need to report unauthorized transactions! My account just had fifty grams of gold liquidated without my consent! This has to be a system glitch or a hack!” The representative’s voice was calm and professional. “Ma’am, we have verified the transaction logs. The trade was executed from your registered device and passed both your transaction password and face recognition verification. From our end, this was a authorized transaction. There is no system error.” “But I didn’t do it! I swear!” “I want to file a complaint! Your security is flawed!” I was on the verge of tears. “Ma’am, if you believe your identity has been stolen, we highly recommend you file a police report. We will cooperate with the investigation. We will get back to you within three business days.” As I hung up, a chill ran down my spine. My registered device? Facial recognition? This was insane. Distracted and terrified, I couldn’t focus on work anymore. To calm my nerves, I aimlessly opened TikTok. Right at the top of my feed was Chloe’s live stream. The caption screamed in bold letters: **”GRATEFUL FAN DAY! SELECTING LUCKY WINNERS FOR LIVE GOLD MANIFESTATION!”** Hoping to see what kind of game she was playing, I tapped in. On screen, Chloe was wearing an elaborate, expensive outfit, sitting in the middle of our living room. “Guys, the gifts you’re sending are insane! To show my appreciation, I’m going to pick a lucky viewer right now and manifest some gold straight into their investment account! Who wants to go first?” The chat was flying by. Soon, she connected via video call with an ecstatic male fan. “Oh my god, Chloe! I only have ten grams of gold in my account. Can you really make it grow?” Chloe gave a sweet smile to the camera. “Of course. Watch closely, everyone. Time to witness a miracle.” She pointed her slender index finger toward the screen and whispered, “Manifest!” In the next second, the fan screamed. “What the hell?! Oh my god! It actually worked! I just got an extra fifty grams! Fifty grams of gold out of nowhere! Chloe, are you a literal goddess?!” I sat frozen. Because at that exact moment, a push notification popped up on my phone. *Your gold investment account has successfully liquidated 50g of gold.* Before I could even process this bizarre “synchronized debiting,” my phone rang. It was an unknown number. It was the medical center where I had my annual company checkup. “Hello, Miss Hazel. Your lab results from last week are in. We detected a nodule on your thyroid. While it currently appears to be a benign tumor, we highly recommend you schedule a follow-up immediately to monitor it and ensure it doesn’t spread.” A sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I looked at Chloe’s smug, triumphant face on the screen, and then down at the debit notification from my bank. So that was it! There was no such thing as the Midas touch, and no wealth was being created out of thin air. I grabbed my car keys and bolted out of the office. I started the engine and slammed my foot on the gas pedal. I had to hurry. I had to get to that place immediately! Only there could I solve this nightmare. While waiting at a red light, I mounted my phone on the dashboard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stream had reached number one on the platform. Chloe’s face was flushed with excitement as digital gifts flooded her screen. “Guys, fifty grams was just the appetizer! To thank our top gifter for sending one hundred TikTok Universes, I’m going to do something massive!” “Next, I’ll select a few super-lucky winners to manifest fifty pounds of gold! Who’s ready for the challenge?!” The chat went absolutely feral. The comments were moving so fast they were a blur. A wave of disgust washed over me. I pulled over, tapped on the chat, and quickly typed a message: *【Manifesting gold? Chloe, stop lying. I know exactly what you’ve been doing.】*

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One week before the wedding, I stood outside a private room at a private club and overheard my fiancé talking with his buddies. He said he had never liked me. The one he truly liked was his childhood sweetheart, Melissa Stone. He said he had only pursued me to disgust my ex, and that he was planning to play my sex video at the wedding, then break off the engagement in public and have my reputation destroyed. He thought I would obediently walk down the red carpet and wait for him to humiliate me. But he had no idea that the video about to be played at the wedding would be a sex video of him and Melissa Stone. Jane Winters POV My name is Jane Winters. I used to be Adrian Cole’s simp, and everyone in their circle mocked me for it. I spent seven years pining after Adrian Cole, but he was cold to me from beginning to end. Five years ago, I gave up on Adrian Cole and accepted a confession from his archrival, Sebastian Grant. From then on, Sebastian Grant spoiled me like I was the center of the universe. He set off fireworks across the entire city just to celebrate my birthday. He bought a necklace worth over a hundred million just because I had glanced at it one more time. To get his parents to agree to let him marry me, he even went on a hunger strike for seven days and seven nights. I became someone everyone in their circle envied. I thought so too. Until one week before the wedding, when I went to the private club to pick Sebastian Grant up and take him home. When I reached the door of the private room, I was just about to push it open when I heard voices drifting through the crack in the door. “Sebastian, are you seriously planning to play Jane Winters’s sex video at the wedding?” A loud ringing filled my head and I froze completely, and my whole body froze in place as if I had been struck by lightning. The one speaking was Sebastian Grant’s childhood friend, Joe Harris. Normally, whenever he saw me, he would respectfully call me Ms. Winters. “Of course. Sebastian got together with Jane Winters just to disgust Adrian Cole, didn’t he?” The one who answered was another childhood friend, Daniel Carter. The excitement in his tone was practically overflowing. Everyone was talking with such enthusiasm that none of them noticed there was still someone standing outside the private room. I stood outside the door, my mind went completely numb and empty, my ears ringing, and forgetting how to react. “Tell me, when Adrian Cole sees Jane Winters’s sex video at the wedding, do you think he’ll be so pissed he coughs blood?” Roars of laughter came through the crack in the door. “Forget coughing blood. I bet he’ll be so mad he dies on the spot!” Someone let out a whistle. “It’ll be livestreamed across the internet. Where is Adrian Cole supposed to put his face then?” The group chattered over one another, their voices full of the thrill of watching a spectacle. Every time we had sex, Sebastian Grant would hold up his phone and aim it at me. I would shake my head and say no. Then he would lean over and kiss my forehead. “Be good. It won’t get leaked. I just want to watch it when I miss you, okay?” My heart had softened, and I had agreed. I never thought that was the real purpose of those videos. “Who told Adrian Cole and Sebastian to be archrivals? Otherwise, Sebastian wouldn’t have deliberately found a few thugs to assault Jane Winters just to screw with him, then play the hero and save the damsel in distress, confess to her, and put up with his disgust while dating her for five years.” My stomach clenched violently, and a sweet, metallic taste surged up into my mouth. That stormy night five years ago. Once again, Adrian Cole had left me by the roadside. A few thugs rushed out of an alley. They tore my clothes apart, covered my mouth, and dragged me deep into the alley. I struggled with everything I had, my fingernails breaking against the ground. I thought I was going to die in that alley. Sebastian Grant appeared. He beat those men off, took off his jacket and wrapped it around me, then carried me into his car. I curled up in his arms, trembling all over. He lowered his head. “It’s okay now. I’m here.” At that moment, I thought Sebastian Grant was the man I would choose for the rest of my life. I never imagined that he was the one who had orchestrated that assault. In that moment, I felt as if the hallway were spinning. The conversation inside the private room continued. “Sebastian really had foresight. Back then, he could tell Adrian Cole loved her without realizing it, so he snatched Jane Winters up early.” “Exactly. Adrian Cole regretted it later. How many times has he gone to confess to Jane Winters? But our Sebastian is just too charming. He made Jane Winters so devoted she refused to turn back.” “Right? This wedding will be the final blow to Cole. After this, he’ll never be able to hold his head up again in the capital!” They clinked their glasses again. The sound of glasses striking the table landed in my heart too. I leaned against the hallway wall, my legs going weak. Someone laughingly teased Sebastian Grant. “Sebastian, why aren’t you saying anything? You’ve treated Jane Winters so well these past five years. Don’t tell me you actually developed feelings for her?” “If Sebastian really fell for her, then he’d have shot himself in the foot!” I held my breath and stared fixedly at him through the crack in the door. I was waiting for Sebastian Grant to deny all of it. Sebastian Grant sat in the seat of honor, his long legs crossed. His expression was hidden in the shadows, dark and unreadable. The private room was quiet for a long while. At last, the man’s low voice sounded, carrying a hint of mockery. “Like her? She’s boring as hell. I’ll take the chance to break off the engagement in public at the wedding.” He said it slowly and unhurriedly. I could hardly believe those words had come from Sebastian Grant. But that was his voice. “I’ve never liked her. The only one in my heart is Melissa.” Melissa Stone, Sebastian Grant’s childhood sweetheart, the group’s favourite in their inner circle. Every time I got jealous, Sebastian Grant would say she was just like a little sister and tell me not to overthink it. “This game has gone on for five years. It’s time for it to end. On the wedding day, I’ll destroy Jane Winters completely, and Adrian Cole too.” Sebastian Grant’s tone was the same coldness and composure I knew so well. “Isn’t that move a little too ruthless? What will happen to Jane Winters afterward? That’s her sex video being livestreamed across the internet!” “What do you know? If Jane Winters’s reputation isn’t completely ruined, what if Adrian Cole marries her later?” “Exactly. Once Jane Winters has her reputation destroyed, Adrian Cole’s father will never agree to let her marry into the family.” “Sebastian’s move is brilliant!” “I can’t wait to watch Jane Winters’s little video and Adrian Cole’s dead-man face!” Laughter burst out in the private room again. So the five years of feelings had been a scam from beginning to end. The deep affection I believed in was only an act Sebastian Grant put on to get revenge on Adrian Cole. The grand wedding I believed in was the execution ground Sebastian Grant had meticulously plotted for me. I loosened my grip on the door handle. Tears fell onto the carpet without a sound. I turned and walked toward the elevator. The moment the elevator doors closed, I bent over and dry-heaved. My phone lit up. It was a message from Sebastian Grant. [Darling, when are you coming to pick me up?] He was saying he was going to destroy me, yet he was still calling me darling. I wiped away my tears and typed a reply with force. [I’m not feeling well. Find a designated driver.] When I walked out the doors of the private club, the rain came crashing down over my head and face. As if I couldn’t feel it at all, I walked into the rain. On that stormy night five years ago, Sebastian Grant had pulled me back from hell to the world of the living. On this stormy night, Sebastian Grant had knocked me from the world of the living back into hell. Rain poured into my eyes, mixing with my tears. “I’ll destroy Jane Winters completely on the wedding day.” Sebastian Grant’s words crashed around in my mind again and again. They grew louder and louder until they rang like a great bell, as if they wanted to shatter my brain. Sebastian Grant, you really are a damn good actor. Since you’ve lied to me for so long, on the wedding day, I’ll give you a grand gift too. That isn’t too much, is it?

Jane Winters POV I chased Adrian Cole for seven years. One stunning glimpse of him on the high school basketball court, and I was done for. After that, I waited by the court with water at every basketball game. Every morning, I brought him breakfast. Adrian Cole never accepted it once. The breakfasts were thrown into the trash untouched. When I greeted him, he never even lifted his eyelids. I followed him to the same university, asked around for his schedule, and signed up for every public lecture he took. After graduation, I went to the Cole family company to apply for a job. Adrian Cole called security and had me escorted out in front of my coworkers. His friends treated me like a joke, and when he heard them, he pretended not to. Until that stormy night, when Adrian Cole’s buddy pretended to be him and tricked me into going to a bar. When I got there, I realized Adrian Cole was sitting in a booth, surrounded by a group of people. He glanced at me, got up, and left without saying a word. I walked out of the bar in the rain and ran into those thugs at the mouth of the alley. Sebastian Grant just happened to appear. My seven years of obsession ended that night. Sebastian Grant spoiled me in a showy, extravagant way. People in their circle said he had picked up the trash Adrian Cole didn’t want. He didn’t care. In front of everyone, he held my hand, his eyes only on me. I believed him. I completely let go of Adrian Cole and loved Sebastian Grant with all my heart. But then Adrian Cole regretted it. He came to confess to me, and I rejected him. The tone in their circle changed overnight, and they began mocking Adrian Cole as a clown. The two archrivals fought over me for five years. But I never imagined that the real clown, from beginning to end, was me. At eleven that night, the door lock clicked. Sebastian Grant pushed the door open and came in, reeking of alcohol. When he saw me curled up on the sofa, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and pulled me into his arms. “Where do you feel unwell? Is it serious?” His hand pressed against my forehead, his tone urgent. If I hadn’t heard those words in the private room, at this moment, I definitely would have thought I was the happiest person in the world. I turned my head and avoided his hand. “I’m just tired from preparing for the wedding. It’s nothing.” Sebastian Grant didn’t get suspicious. He took my hand and led me toward the bedroom. “Then let me reward you properly.” Those words made my stomach churn. I pulled my hand back. “You reek of smoke and alcohol. It’s suffocating.” Sebastian Grant paused, then laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll go wash up.” The sound of water came from the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor lamp in the corner of the bedroom. A photo Sebastian Grant had taken of me in Bali last year was still stuck to the lampshade. In the photo, I was smiling brightly. Sebastian Grant was holding me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. The water stopped. Sebastian Grant came out while drying his hair, got into bed, and hugged me from behind. “In one more week, I’ll finally marry you, darling.” I clenched the bedsheet beneath me. “Do you really not mind that I pursued Adrian Cole before?” Sebastian Grant’s arms tightened. “Why bring him up? I told you, everything in the past is over.” He buried his face in the hollow of my neck and took a deep breath. “I only love you.” If I hadn’t heard him say with my own ears that he had never liked me, I would have believed him again. “Mm. It’s over.” Sebastian Grant’s hand slid up from my waist, restlessly exploring higher. The image of him holding up his phone flashed through my mind, and my whole body went cold. “I’m tired today. Next time.” Sebastian Grant’s hand stopped. After a pause, he pulled me a little closer into his arms. “Okay. We’ll do what you want. I’m finally going to marry you.” Sebastian Grant’s breathing gradually deepened, and the strength in his arms loosened too. I lay with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Until Sebastian Grant was completely asleep. I gently pried Sebastian Grant’s arm away and got out of bed. Sebastian Grant’s phone was on the nightstand. The password was my birthday. I unlocked it and found the encrypted folder buried deep in his album. I tried the password three times. On the third try, I entered Melissa Stone’s birthday. It unlocked. Inside were dozens of videos. All of them were of me. My stomach cramped again. Select all. Delete. Empty the trash. Exit the album. Then I opened Instagram. In the past, I trusted Sebastian Grant and had never gone through his phone. Now that the trust was shattered, I had to see everything for myself. First, I found the group chat between Sebastian Grant and his buddies. The chat history stretched from several years ago all the way to today. Joe Harris had once sent a photo of me from behind while I was cooking in the kitchen: [Jane Winters’s body is a five from the front and an eight from the back. Sebastian, how do you even put up with it?] Sebastian Grant replied with a disgusted reaction image: [With the lights off in bed, all women are the same.] Daniel Carter followed up with a string of reaction images: [Sebastian’s sacrifice is way too big. Should we give you an award?] I kept scrolling. On my birthday, Sebastian Grant had sent a message: [Have to act all lovey-dovey for half the day again today. Exhausting.] Joe Harris replied: [Thanks for your hard work, Sebastian. The buddies will take you out to relax later.] My hands were shaking. I kept scrolling and found a contact hidden in Sebastian Grant’s contacts, saved under the note Little Moon. I tapped on the profile photo. It was a side profile of Melissa Stone. This Instagram account was different from the one I had added. It was Melissa Stone’s alternate account. I used my own phone to register a new Instagram account and added Melissa Stone’s alternate account. Melissa Stone’s posts had no privacy settings. The latest one was from three days ago. A photo: Sebastian Grant’s hand rested on her waist, the two of them pressed together, cheek to cheek. The caption: [He said he’ll come to me as soon as the wedding is over. He can’t wait.] Further back was a ten-second video. Sebastian Grant was kissing Melissa Stone’s forehead, and Melissa Stone was tilting her face up with a smile. The caption was: [Only I am his darling.] Further back, Melissa Stone had posted a paragraph: [He said Jane Winters is like a dead fish in bed. Hahahahaha I’m dying.] Melissa Stone commented on her own post: [Poor tool. She still thinks she’s Mrs. Grant.] I put down the phone. Tears fell onto the screen, splashing like a flower of water and blurring that line of text. As I cried, I laughed. I got up and went to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet, and cold water splashed over my face. I looked at the shattered, devastated face in the mirror. My eyes were swollen like peaches, and the tip of my nose was bright red. “Jane Winters, don’t be afraid,” I whispered. My heart hardened inch by inch. Sebastian Grant, I hope you don’t regret this later. I returned to the bedroom and put Sebastian Grant’s phone back where it had been. Then I opened my own phone and started searching for an immigration agency. After finishing everything, I lay back down in bed. Beside me, Sebastian Grant turned over, and his arm reached for me again. I shifted toward the edge of the bed, moving farther away from him.

Jane Winters POV When I woke up, Sebastian Grant was no longer in bed. The sound of a spatula clanging came from the kitchen. “Darling, get up and eat.” Sebastian Grant carried the dishes out. On the table were heart-shaped egg toast with strawberry jam, all things I liked. I didn’t hurry out. My eyes were still a little swollen. I pressed cold water over them for ten minutes, then applied a layer of concealer. Only after confirming nothing looked off did I open the door and go out. Sebastian Grant pulled out a chair for me to sit down and pushed the soup in front of me. “After breakfast, let’s go to the office together. We have an appointment at the bridal boutique today to try on your wedding dress.” He said it with a smile, his tone full of anticipation. That wedding dress was designed by Sebastian Grant himself. He had found a workshop in France to sew it entirely by hand over three months. It was worth eight figures. Sebastian Grant had said he wanted to give me the best wedding dress in the world. To put on this show, he really had spent a fortune. I drank a mouthful of milk and swallowed it down. “Actually, it doesn’t need to be so troublesome.” Sebastian Grant ruffled my hair. “It’s not troublesome. To marry you, any amount of trouble is worth it.” I lowered my head and ate without speaking again. My phone suddenly rang. I recognized that ringtone. It was Melissa Stone’s exclusive ringtone. Sebastian Grant glanced at the caller ID, then got up and walked to the balcony. “I’ll take this call.” He slid the balcony door shut behind him. The glass cut off his conversation. But I could see him leaning against the railing, head lowered as he smiled. I looked away and continued eating. The egg was fried perfectly. But when I chewed it, it had no taste at all. Sebastian Grant hung up the phone and hurriedly pushed the door open to come in. “Sweetheart, you go to the company first. I have something urgent to take care of.” He grabbed the car keys from the table, lowered his head, and kissed my forehead. Before I could answer, he was already out the door. The door shut behind him, and the draft blew a napkin off the dining table. Anything involving Melissa Stone was always urgent. Clients could be ignored. Meetings could be canceled. One call from Melissa Stone, and he would come running whenever called. I set down my spoon. I pulled up the immigration agency I had saved last night and called them. “Hello, I want to immigrate. The sooner, the better.” “Of course, ma’am. Please submit your documents as soon as possible. The fastest we can complete everything is one week.” One week. Exactly the day of the wedding. After hanging up, I photographed each document the agency requested and sent them over. More than half the breakfast on the table was still untouched. I picked up the plate and dumped all the food into the trash. Sebastian Grant’s cooking really was good. Too bad I no longer wanted to eat it. I took a cab to the company myself. Ever since I got together with Sebastian Grant, he had asked me to work at his company. He said it was so he could see me every moment of every day. Only now did I understand. Seeing me every moment of every day was so he could keep this chess piece under his nose and prevent it from going out of control. When I arrived at the office, I shut the door and turned on the computer. For the past five years, I had worked diligently, and I knew Sebastian Grant’s company’s finances inside and out. I spent two hours organizing a detailed statement of accounts. Just as I finished, my phone rang. It was Sebastian Grant. “Sweetheart, go straight to the bridal boutique later. I won’t come pick you up.” “You’re not coming to the company?” I asked. “Didn’t you have an important client to meet this morning?” The other end of the line paused. “I still have something to take care of.” I knew what it was. No matter how important the client was, how could they compare to Melissa Stone? “Okay.” I hung up, picked up my bag, and left. The bridal boutique was in the downtown commercial district. The storefront was small, but it was top-tier in the industry. I didn’t go in. I simply stood at the glass door. Inside, the lighting was soft and expensive. Beneath the crystal chandelier, Melissa Stone stood in front of the fitting mirror. She was wearing my wedding dress. The handmade lace hugged her waist, and the train dragged across the floor. The gown fit her like it was custom-made just for her. Melissa Stone turned, the hem sweeping over the floor like a white flower in full bloom. The staff member beside her had an indescribable look on her face. She stood in the corner, eyes dodging, and no one dared to speak. I saw Sebastian Grant standing behind Melissa Stone, both hands in his pants pockets, his expression relaxed. Melissa Stone tilted her head at the mirror, then looked back at him. “Sebastian, do I look better than Jane Winters in this wedding dress?” Sebastian Grant smiled indulgently. “Our Melissa looks good in anything.” Chapter 4 Jane Winters POV I pushed the door open and walked in. The wind chime tinkled sharply as I pushed the door open. Sebastian Grant turned his head. The moment he saw me, the smile on his face froze. He quickly pulled his hands out of his pockets and strode over in a few steps, taking my hand. “Sweetheart, you got here so fast?” He stepped between Melissa Stone and me, a hint of urgency in his voice. “Melissa is just acting like a child. She’s never worn a wedding dress before. She saw that yours was pretty and wanted to try it on. Sweetheart, don’t mind her.” He looked back at Melissa Stone, his tone changing. “Stop messing around. Go change out of it.” It was completely different from the tone he had used when he said, “Melissa looks good in anything.” Melissa Stone pouted, lifted the skirt, and reluctantly walked toward the fitting room. “So petty. It’s just a wedding dress. It’s not like I care.” I stood where I was and quietly watched the scene unfold. In the past, I would have gotten angry. I would have fought with Sebastian Grant and said Melissa Stone had no sense of boundaries. Sebastian Grant would then helplessly coax me, saying I was narrow-minded, that Melissa Stone was still young and immature, and that she meant no harm. The old me really was too stupid. I believed whatever Sebastian Grant said. “I don’t mind. It’s just a piece of clothing.” Sebastian Grant froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so calm. In the past, whenever something involved Melissa Stone, every thorn on my body would stand on end. He probed, “Sweetheart, you’re not angry?” “Why would I be angry?” I looked at him. “Didn’t you say she’s like your sister? Since she’s your sister, if she wants to try it on, let her.” In any case, I wouldn’t be wearing that wedding dress. It had nothing to do with me. A flicker of surprise crossed Sebastian Grant’s face. But he didn’t think too much of it. Instead, he looked relieved. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you can think that way. You’re my wife, and from now on, Melissa will be your sister too.” Sister. I wondered what kind of sister he meant. “Sebastian—” Melissa Stone’s voice came from the fitting room, dragging out the last syllable. “The dress is stuck. Come help me.” Sebastian Grant glanced back at me, then turned and ran toward the fitting room. The staff member stood to the side, her expression complicated. She looked at me sympathetically, poured a glass of warm water, and brought it over. “Why don’t you sit over there and wait for a bit?” My expression remained normal. I took the water and sat down in a chair in the resting area. The two of them didn’t come out for a long time. I had no choice but to take out my phone and scroll. The first post was a photo Melissa Stone had posted of herself trying on the wedding dress. Melissa Stone was wearing that wedding dress, standing in front of the mirror. Sebastian Grant was right beside her, his gaze falling on her with deep affection. The caption read: [The wedding dress Sebastian and I designed together. Of course I had to be the first to wear it.] Sebastian Grant had told me this wedding dress was designed for me and tailored to my measurements. So it was another lie. It had been designed for Melissa Stone. The measurements were Melissa Stone’s too. No wonder it fit so perfectly. The comments below were exactly as expected. Joe Harris: [Melissa looks insane in a wedding dress! Way prettier than Jane Winters!] Daniel Carter: [Sebastian’s taste has always been on point.] I exited the post hard and locked my screen. Melissa Stone, why are you in such a hurry? This wedding dress will be yours sooner or later. Sebastian Grant will be yours too. No one is fighting you for him. I sat in the resting area and finished three glasses of water. The fitting room door finally opened. Sebastian Grant came out first. Melissa Stone followed behind him, changed back into her own clothes, but her expression was deeply satisfied. Sebastian Grant quickly walked up to me, his face full of tenderness. “Sweetheart, come try on the wedding dress.” I got up and walked over. Just as I reached the fitting platform, there was a dull sound from above. I instinctively looked up. The enormous crystal chandelier had come loose from the ceiling and was crashing straight down. “Melissa!” Sebastian Grant’s reaction was shockingly fast. He wrapped an arm around Melissa Stone’s waist and threw them both to the side. The two of them rolled into a safe area. All I had time to do was raise my arm to protect my head and face. The crystal chandelier smashed into my shoulder, shards flying everywhere. Agonizing pain exploded from my shoulder blade and spread through my entire arm. Warm blood flowed down along my collarbone. I was knocked to the floor. The staff’s screams sounded as if they were coming from underwater. Sebastian Grant crouched three meters away, holding Melissa Stone’s face in both hands and checking her up and down. “Did it hit you? Does it hurt? Let me see.” His brows were tightly furrowed, his eyes full of heartache. Melissa Stone curled up in his arms, sobbing softly. Not even a strand of her hair had been hurt. Sebastian Grant’s gaze stayed on Melissa Stone the entire time. He did not think of me at all. Before I fainted, I saw Sebastian Grant holding Melissa Stone tightly in his arms, gently wiping the tears from her face with the back of his hand. Chapter 5 Jane Winters POV When I woke again, I was in the hospital. Sebastian Grant was sitting in the chair beside the bed. One hand was holding mine, while the other propped up his forehead, as if he had just woken from a very light sleep. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked haggard and exhausted. “Sweetheart, you’re finally awake.” He leaned toward me with a worried face and reached out to touch my forehead. The anxious look on his face didn’t seem fake. I pulled my hand free, looked away, and stared at the ceiling. Sebastian Grant’s hand froze in midair, then withdrew. “The situation was urgent at the time. Melissa was closer to me. I didn’t think.” He paused, his voice hoarse. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.” I didn’t look at him. “How bad are my injuries?” Sebastian Grant quickly answered, “You needed a few stitches, but the bone wasn’t injured. The doctor said you can be discharged in two days.” He raised his hand and smoothed the hair scattered across my pillow. “It won’t affect our wedding. The boutique has also taken the wedding dress to be repaired. In a week, sweetheart, you’ll still be my most beautiful bride.” I had been hit so badly I needed stitches, and his first reaction was that it wouldn’t affect the wedding. What he cared about had never been me as a person. It was whether that performance could go on smoothly. I tugged at the corner of my mouth. “That’s good.” Since it wouldn’t affect the wedding, then naturally it wouldn’t affect the gift I had prepared for them, either. Nor would it affect my leaving. It really was good. For the next few days, Sebastian Grant stayed at the hospital without leaving my side. Feeding me water and meals, changing my bandages, wiping me down—he did everything himself. During the day, he had his assistant bring documents to the ward and reviewed them right beside my hospital bed. At night, after I fell asleep, he still got up to tuck in my blanket. With my eyes closed, I listened to his light footsteps as he walked over, and I found it absurd. I was already asleep. Who was he putting on the act for? On the day I was discharged, Sebastian Grant personally came to pick me up. But the car did not head in the direction of home. “Sweetheart, to celebrate your recovery, I arranged a surprise for you. Everyone is already waiting.” The car stopped in front of the private club. I looked at that familiar entrance and said nothing, following him inside. When he pushed open the private room door, all of Sebastian Grant’s buddies were there. Joe Harris was the first to stand, smiling broadly. “Jane Winters, congrats on getting discharged!” Daniel Carter also came over with a glass of wine. “Jane Winters, you’ve suffered. We’ll celebrate properly tonight.” Every single one of them was smiling like they meant it. They were the same group of people who had treated me like a joke in the private room that day. Melissa Stone was there too. She sat in the corner. When she saw me come in, she glanced at me lightly, the corners of her mouth curving slightly. Sebastian Grant pulled me down to sit and personally poured me a glass of juice. “Sweetheart, you just got discharged, so you can’t drink. Have juice today.” I didn’t think much of it. I took it and began drinking. The dinner was lively, with glasses clinking all around. Halfway through the meal, I got up to go to the restroom. As I walked down the hallway, my head began to feel heavy. My vision was a little blurry, and my legs were going weak. I leaned against the wall for a while, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. Something was wrong. A hand suddenly covered my mouth. Someone dragged me from behind into the private room next door. The private room door was locked from the inside. A greasy middle-aged man shoved me onto the sofa, letting out a disgusting laugh. “Pretty little thing, you’re mine now.” I retreated in terror, but the man lunged at me like a starving wolf. I struggled desperately, but my whole body was weak, and I had no strength in my arms. Not to mention, the other party was a grown man. The difference in strength was too great. The man tore my clothes apart. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” “Pretty little thing, someone gave you to me. Just accept it.” A wave of nausea hit me. My stomach churned violently, and I almost threw up. “Help! Is anyone there? Help me!” I shouted in despair until my voice turned hoarse. “Sebastian Grant!” But no one answered. The man’s hand clamped around my neck. My vision began to blur, and all that remained in my ears was his vicious laughter and panting. I remembered that stormy night five years ago and closed my eyes in despair. How had I forgotten? Last time, Sebastian Grant had been the one who arranged those thugs in the first place, then personally came to play the hero and save the damsel in distress. How could he possibly come save me? And this time, who had arranged it? I closed my eyes in despair. The private room door was kicked open. Sebastian Grant rushed in like an asura from hell, his eyes full of violence. He grabbed the greasy man by the collar, yanked him off me, and threw him onto the floor. His fist slammed into that greasy face. The man screamed twice and collapsed to the ground. But Sebastian Grant did not stop. His fists rained down on the man. His knuckles were covered in blood. I couldn’t tell whether it was his or the man’s. Not until that man had completely passed out and gone still. Joe Harris and Daniel Carter rushed to the doorway. They were stunned by the scene before them, and neither dared to step forward and pull him away. I curled up in the corner of the sofa, trembling all over. My vision went dark, and I lost consciousness. Chapter 6 Jane Winters POV When I woke again, I found myself lying in the bed at home. Sebastian Grant was not in the room. From the living room came the sound of him on a phone call. Through the door, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I opened the computer. Sebastian Grant’s Instagram was still logged in. I clicked into that group chat and scrolled to their conversations from the past two days. Two days ago, which was the day I was hit by the crystal chandelier at the bridal boutique. Sebastian Grant: [Melissa, you went too far. If the crystal chandelier had hit Jane Winters’s face, the wedding wouldn’t be able to happen.] Melissa Stone: [Who told her to take my wedding dress? I just taught her a lesson!] Sebastian Grant: [She’s only wearing it temporarily. It’ll be yours sooner or later.] During the two days I was hospitalized, Joe Harris called for him in the group several times: [Sebastian, come out for a drink? Stop guarding her. No need to bother with her anymore, right?] Daniel Carter also joined in the teasing: [Sebastian, you’re way too dedicated. You don’t have to go this hard for an act, do you?] Sebastian Grant did not reply to any of it. Melissa Stone couldn’t sit still anymore and questioned him directly: [Are you actually in love with Jane Winters?] Joe Harris reminded him: [Yeah, Sebastian. She liked Adrian Cole for seven years. She was Adrian Cole’s simp.] Daniel Carter echoed: [Who knows what she and Adrian Cole have done together? Sebastian, don’t lose your head.] Someone else said: [Sebastian, we’ve spent so many years preparing this plan. There are only a few days left. We can’t fail at the last step.] After a long time, Sebastian Grant replied with two words: [I won’t.] Melissa Stone refused to let it go: [Then call Jane Winters to the private club and drug her yourself. I’ll get someone to sleep with her. Then I’ll believe you!] So that was it. The crystal chandelier had been premeditated by Melissa Stone. The so-called celebration of my recovery had all been a cover. Sebastian Grant and the others had planned to hurt me! There had been something in the glass of juice Sebastian Grant handed me, and he had put it there with his own hands. That greasy man had been found by Melissa Stone. Sebastian Grant knew the whole time and cooperated with it. A new message popped up. It was a voice message Melissa Stone had just sent. Melissa Stone was crying so hard she could barely breathe: [Sebastian, why did you save her? Did you really fall for her? Do you not love me anymore?] After a while, Sebastian Grant replied: [Melissa, don’t overthink it. If something happened to her this time, what would we do if the wedding couldn’t go on? Once the wedding is over, you can play with her however you want, okay?] I let out a miserable laugh. The fury in my heart was beyond words. I forced myself to stand, walked into the walk-in closet, and began packing my things. Over the past five years, Sebastian Grant had given me countless things. Limited edition bags, full sets of jewelry, the latest top-tier haute couture clothes. Once, all of these had been proof that he loved me. Now, I tossed these priceless things into cardboard boxes like I was throwing away garbage. Sebastian Grant heard the noise and pushed the door open. “Sweetheart, you just woke up. What are you busy with?” He looked at the closet that was already more than half empty, his handsome brows drawing together. The empty room seemed to make him uncomfortable. “When we move into the marital home in a few days, we’ll have to bring all these things over anyway. I might as well pack early.” I didn’t lift my head. I answered in a normal tone while continuing to put things into the boxes. Sebastian Grant’s brows relaxed, and a smile appeared in his eyes. He was very satisfied with my answer, thinking I was preparing for their future married life. “Don’t wear yourself out.” He walked over and pulled me up. “I’ll have someone clean all this up. You just woke up, so rest properly and focus on being my bride.” I nodded. Perfect. I really didn’t want to touch any of it anyway. Sebastian Grant gave the servants a few instructions, changed into another jacket, and left. He was probably going to coax his little childhood sweetheart. The servants worked quickly. In less than an hour, they had packed everything into boxes. I called a secondhand luxury goods buyer. It was rare for them to run into such a major client, so they brought an appraiser straight to the door. Wearing gloves, the appraiser examined each item one by one, shaking his head as he looked. “These are all brand-new. Some styles are even sold out at the boutiques. Are you sure you want to sell them all?” “All of them. Cash payment.” In less than two hours, all the boxes were loaded into the buyer’s truck. My phone received a text notification from the bank confirming the deposit. The number was long enough to keep me fed and clothed for the rest of my life. I deleted the message, opened a ticket-booking app, and booked a flight for the day of the wedding.

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